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A TRUE 

o 

ARISTOCRAT. 


By MRS. GEORGIE SHELDON, 

Author of “Trixy,” “Brownie’s Triumph,” “The Forsaken Bride,” “Earl 
Wayne’s Nobility,” etc., etc. 





No. 10. PRICE ^ 25 CENTS. Yearly Subscription, $3.00. February, 1889. 

[ED MONTHLY. Entered at the New York Post-Office as second-class matter. 



I 



£ 


•i 


A Tede lEism 


A NOVEL. 


By MRS. GEORGIE SHELDON, 


A uthor of 


“ Trixy; or, The Shadow of a Crime,” “ Brownie’s Triumph,” “ The Forsaken 
Bride,” “ Earl Wayne’s Nobility,” ” Stella Rosevelt,” etc., etc. 





O ' 

? - 

NEW YORK : 

A, L. BURT, PUBLISHER. 



Copyright 1889, by A. L. Burt. 



\ 


A True Aristocrat. 


CHAPTER I. 

TAKEiq- AT HER WORD. 

I ' T T OWARD, you shall never demean yourself in any 
t , X A such way.'’^ 

\ I certainly have no intention of demeaning myself, 
\ as you express it, Helen.” 

But you have just told me that you intend to marry 

i Cecile Vavasour.” 

^^Yes.” 

A Montgomery never yet stooped to wed with a 
f beggar. ” 
f- ‘-'Helen!” 

I do not care; I must talk plainly to you, or you 
^ will ruin yourself and disgrace your family. A^ou need 
not think that you are going to transfix me with that 
stern look, nor by your dignified, imposing manner. If 
you marry that girl vou will be the talk of our whole 
set.” 

The scornful curling of a pair of handsome lips dis- 
. closed a set of very white, even teeth belonging to the 
[, gentleman addressed by the above remark. 

An angry flush mounted to the lady's brow as slie 
noticed it. 

‘Tf you persist in your mad folly,” she cried, hotly, 
'‘you are henceforth no brother of mine; I will not 
recognize you; I will have nothing more to do with you 
or her.” 

"Very well.” 

> It was coldly, haughtily spoken. 



A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. I 

f Very well! ^ Does that mean that you still clefyj 
me — that you refuse to heed my wishes in this matter 
have no wish to ^defy^ you, Helen; but if you 
imagine for a moment that I am going to prove myself : 
the traitor I should be if I heeded you in this; if you 
think I am going back upon my truth, honor, and 
plighted word, you are very much mistaken. A Mont- 
gomery had much better wed with a beggar,^ as you are 
pleased to put it, than lower himself to commit the 
dastardly act which you propose.'’^ 

‘^Then I repeat you are henceforth no brother of 
mine, and don’t you ever dare to bring your beggar-bride 
into my 'presence.” 

The place in which the above conversation occurred 
was a luxurious room in one of those palaces which 
adorn wide, handsome, aristocratic Fifth avenue; avast, 
lofty apartment, pillared with rose marble, hung with vel- 
vet, curtained with satin — a room fit for the gods! frescoed 
and carved in rich and delicate desig-ns, almost equal to 
the work of a Gibbons and a Vario; lighted by great 
spaces of French plate-glass; carpeted with the choicest 
productions of the far East, and ornamented wdth costly 
bric-a-brac, statuary, and paintings from almost every 
country on the globe. 

The speakers were in perfect harmony with their sur- 
roundings. 

One, a tall, willowy, graceful woman of perhaps 
twenty-five years; a queen of society, a thorough woman 
of the world; a brilliant, black-haired, black-eyed, rose- 
tinted brunette, with all the fire, and pride, and haughti- 
ness of a genuine Southerner in her nature, the best 
Kentucky blood in her veins, and a high-bred grace in 
every movement. 

She looked like a picture as she stood there, tall, 
straight, haughty, and angry; a passionate gleam in her 
midnight eyes, a glow of ruddy fire on her olive-tinted 
cheek; like one of those rich, glowing conceptions of 
Titian or Murillo stepped down from its frame, in her 
trailing dress of violet velvet, with its rare and delicate 
laces, the massive cross of diamonds at her throat, and 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


7 


the cl aster of crimson buds in her hair. She looked like 
a queen — .'n olfended queen — proud, regal, resentful, but 
magnificently beautiful. 

Such was Helen, only daughter of Fitzroy Charles Som- 
erset Montgomery, a very wealthy Southern gentleman, 
who was foj*t unate enough to escape the ravages of war 
and save the bulk of his property. 

Pie was a descendant of a proud old English family who 
had been one of the first to settle in the State of Ken- 
tucky, who were also intensely aristocratic and exclusive, 
priding themselves upon their vast wealth, position, and 
blue blood, but who had gradually died out until only 
two survived to preserve the dignity and glory of the 
family name and inherit their almost royal possessions. 

AVhether it was the survival of the fittest,” and 
whether their pristine dignity and glory were preserved, 
are facts which will develop themselves in the future. 

The other speaker referred to, the companion of this 
beautiful woman, was an equally handsome man; dark- 
browed, and darkly-crowned like his sister, Avith the same 
tall straight figure, the same clear-cut, high-bred profile, 
with the same complexion, the same courtl}^ grace and 
bearing, but possessing a character infinitely superior, 
although it was plainly to be seen that he was the younger 
of the two. 

A noble man — a manly, chivalrous man was Howard 
Montgomery, full of fire and energy, of lofty principles 
and earnest purposes. 

He Avas the only remaining scion to perpetuate the name 
of a noble house, the pet and darling of his sister, the 
most admired and courted of all the circle in which they 
moved, and honored and respected among his business 
acquaintances for his fair dealing, his unswerving recti- 
tude, and almost princely generosity. 

The brother and sister had shared equally in the division 
of their lathery’s large property, the half of Avhich was a 
handsome fortune in itself; but Helen had greatly aug- 
mented hers by marrying a second Avith Colonel AVilliam 
Everard Langley, Avhile Howard bade fair to double his 
shortly by successful business operations. 


8 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


Both were handsome, cultivated, rich, and both were 
imbued with an intense pride regarding their birth, family, 
and position, but — with a difference. 

Helen was haughty, arrogant, and conceited on account i 
of her great wealth, and the position it gave her, while I 
Howard^s pride consisted in sustaining an unblemished 
character, scorning a mean act, a dishonorable purpose, | 
and the sacrifice of truth and self-respect. | 

The subject of their present dispute, and indeed of the 
whole circle in which they moved just at this time, was 
Howard Montgomery's engagement to Cecile Vavasour, a 
lovely girl, who until very recently had moved in the same 
society, and been a much admired belle in le heau monde. 

But a sudden and terrible railway accident had de- 
prived her in a moment of time of both parents, thus 
leaving her not only an orphan, but absolutely friend- 
less and penniless in, the world, as she had neither 
brother, nor sister, nor relative of any sort that she knew 
of, while it w’as discovered upon an investigation that 
Mr. Vavasour was so heavily involved in his business 
operations that every dollar of the property which he 
nominally held would not be sufficient to cancel his lia- 
bilities. 

So beautiful Cecile Vavasour was suddenly hurled 
from the very pinnacle of affluence into the abyss of 
beggary; her honors dropped from her like the fairy 
robes of Cinderella on the stroke of the fatal hour of 
midnight, and like her she became a creature of yester- 
day, a bird shorn of its brilliant plumage, an outcast, 
and considered unfit to mingle longer in the charmed 
circle where once she had been courted, admired, and 
flattered. 

But the knowledge of her poverty, when broken to 
her, scarcely seemed to move her. 

It was nothing when compared to the loss of her father 
and mother, who had made her their idol, and thus far 
on life’s journey removed every obstacle from her path- 
way. 


She was only seventeen, and a trusting, clinging little 
creature. She had never known a want or a wish un- 


A TRUE ABISTOCRAT, 


9 


gratified; her whole life had been like an enchanted idyl, 
and poverty was but an empty word, a meaningless sound 
to her. 

She had met Howard Montgomery more than a year 
previous. For six months she had been engaged to him, 
loving him with all the fervor of a first strong attach- 
ment, and believing him to be just what he was, a grand, 
noble, incorruptible man. 

Now when her great trouble came upon her she had 
of course turned to him, trusting him, confiding in him, 
leaning upon him as she believed she had a right to do — 
as a woman should do, and feel, toward the man whom 
1 she was to marry. 

It had never occurred to her that the change in her 
prospects could make any difference either in his feelings 
or those of his many friends. 

What mattered a little money? 

I If she had none, Howard was rich, and as his wife she 
would never want for anything in the future any more 
than she had in the past. She believed he would do by 
her as she would have done by him had their positions 
been reversed; so she gave not a troubled thought to her 
poverty, although she was nearly heart-broken over the 
sad and tragic end of her parents. 

But however she may have regarded it, poor Cecile^s 
misfortune in losing all her money did make avast differ- 
ence in the feelings of her ^‘dear five hundred friends;^^ 
and the crash, when it came, crushed out almost every 
spark of love, admiration and friendship which they had 
ever entertained, or professed to entertain for her. 

‘^HIow dreadful!’’ they cried, with faces of dismay. 
“^^Poor child, what will she do? Of course 
Montgomery wull never marry her now — it would be 
such a mesalliance,'^’ and bright eyes grew brighter, 
hopeless hearts became lighter, as calculating mammas 
and scheming maidens began to feel that the handsome 
aristocratic young Southerner might turn his attention 
in another direction now. 

To be sure the fair unfortunate was just as pretty, just 
as pure, just as intellectual and accomplished as she had 


10 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


1 


ever been; but the almighty dollar — that golden god | 
who hitherto had paved her pathway with pleasure, an 'j 
surrounded her life with a halo of glory — had proved* 
fickle, taken unto himself wings and fiown away, an«|l 
fortune's petted darling was found to be only a thing o 
common clay after all. | 

Helen Langley, who should have been most sympad 
thetic, most tender, comforting and considerate, was bit 1 
terest of all. ' 

Poverty was the worst, the unpardonable sin of all iC' 
her catalogue of crimes, and Oecile, perforce, had be^^ 
come a sinner past all forgiveness or absolution. 

For a moment or two after she had uttered that last 
bitter, passionate sentence, her brother stood regarding 
her with a stern, searching look in his dark eyes ; then 
his handsome lips slowly curled again. 

Helen," he began, coldly, but with a decision which, 
there could be no mistaking, ^‘if you were a man, I 
would not have given yon breathing space after thosd^ 
last odious words; but since you are a woman, and — mj f 
sister, I suppose I must endure them and let you go unJ | 
scathed. Let me tell 3^011, however, that you have great- I 
ly mistaken my character, if you imagine that I am go-^ 
ing to prove recreant to my vows, simply because the 
girl I love has become the victim of misfortune. I have ' 
won her affections; I have wooed her from the beginning 
with the intention of marrying her; and, putting myself 
and my love for her entirely out of the question, do you 
suppose I am going to break her heart now, simply be- 
cause her fortune has taken wings? What was her monev 
to me? Did you think it was simply that I wanted when 
I asked Mr. Vavasour to give me his daughter? Have 
I not enough and more than enough? Her troubles 
have not changed her nature, except to make her cling 
to me more fondly, and to love me more devotedly than 
before. She is the same pure, true-hearted girl that she 
has always been, and whom you have professed so to ad- 
mire and love. Without me she would be utterly friend- 
less and desolate, and this change in her circumstances 
will not make the slightest difference with my intentions 
regarding her." 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


11 


Yon are determined, then — yon will not listen to 
reason — yon are bound to marry her!"^ Mrs. Langley 
cried, with a flash of anger in her eyes. 

‘‘Most certainly I shall marry Cecile Vavasonr. I 
have never thought of such a thing as breaking my en- 
gagement with her until yon proposed it to me to- 
day.'’^ 

“Where is yonr pride?’’ she cried, scornfully. 

“Good Heavens, Helen! have you no consideration 
for me 9 Do yon think it would cost me nothing to give 
up my promised wife, and do yon think I can cast her 
aside like a worn-out garment? I tell yon my whole life 
would be blighted, all my hopes crushed — destroyed, if 
anything should happen to alienate Cecile’s affections 
from me. She is dearer to me than all the world be- 
sides; name, fortune, position would be nothing without 
her,” he returned, with an earnestness which proved the 
truth of his words beyond a doubt. 

“You ai’e too sentimeirtal for anything, Howard,” 
Mrs. Langley retorted, impatiently. 

“Call it what you will — I do not care; but 5^011 cannot 
move me a hair’s breadth. I shall use all my elo- 
quence, too, to hasten our marriage, for the poor child 
will have no home when her father’s creditors are satis- 
fied, save the one I shall offer her.” 

“Well, Howard Montgomery, you know what I have 
said,” Mrs. Col. Langley retorted, in icy tones, her face 
white and set as that of a marble statue. 

“Yes, Helen, and if such is your verdict — that I am 
to be no longer regarded as 3mur brother — that you 
henceforth ostracize me from your heart and home — so 
it must remain, I suppose, although it is a very unjust 
and cruel one,” the young man returned, sadly, adding, 
with a slight quiver in his under lip: “You and I are all 
that are left of our father’s family, and it will be very hard 
to walk in separate paths when all our lives we have been 
so united. But if you will allow a false pride to so 
warp your affection and sympathies, and build this bar- 
rier between us, I cannot feel that I am in any way re- 
sponsible. I will not shame my manhood — I will not 


12 


A AHISTOOJiAi: 


do violence to my love^ and spoil both my life and 
CecileX even though my only sister demands \i.” 

Howard, you are an incorrigible fool!^^ Helen 
Langley cried, angrily, and thrown into a white heat of 
passion by his words. 

Howard Montgomery stepped forward to the table 
near them, and took his hat. 

His fine face had grown very pale, and the welt of 
flesh which lay between his teeth w^as nearly bitten 
through with the effort he made to restrain himself, and 
there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. 

His sister had not inherited all the fire of her race by 
any means, nor as much of their self-control either, as 
would have been well for her. 

That is something that I can allow no one to say to 
me with impunit}^'’^ he returned, in an inflexible tone. 

Good-morning and good-by, Helen/^ 

Without waiting for any reply, and before his sister 
could recover from her surprise enough to realize what 
she had done, and that she was being taken literally at 
her word, he had left the room and the house. 


A mUJS AMISTOCBAT. 


13 


CHAPTER II. 

PLAISTNING FOR THEIR FUTURE. 

H oward Montgomery went directly from 

Col. Langley^s elegant residence to the no less lux- 
urious abode of his affianced wife — Cecile Vavasour. 

Out of respect and sympathy for the young giiTs 
deep trouble, her father’s creditors had postponed 
the despoiling of her beautiful home as long as pos- 
sible. 

But it could not be delayed much longer, and her 
lover knew it — knew that the aristocratic residence, with 
all its wealth of adornment, must come under the relent- 
less hammer of the auctioneer. 

He had therefore determined to urge their immediate 
marriage, that Cecile might at once be surrounded by 
his love and protection, and that she need know no 
change in her mode of life; and it was the declaration 
of this determination to his sister, the elegant and fas- 
tidious Mrs. Langley, which had caused the disagree- 
ment recorded in the preceding chapter. 

Howard found his betrothed sitting, sad and alone, in 
her boudoir, her face pale and wistful, her air weary and 
dejected. 

As the door opened and he entered, she sprang to meet 
him, with a glad cry, her countenance lighting up with 
a glow of tenderness that told him at once of whom she 
had been thinking, and how entirely her heart was his. 
How shall I describe Cecil Vavasour? 

How can I do justice to her delicate beauty — her won- 
drous loveliness? 

She was slight of figure, of medium height, and most 
exquisitely formed. 

Her features were delicate, her complexion of remark- 


i 


14 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


able clearness and brillianc}^; her eyes were deeply, darkly, 
beautifully blue, and fringed with lashes a sliade darker 
than the fluffj^ golden hair which crowned her small head, 
and seemed, as one has expressed it, like woven sun- 
shine,^^ so brightly did it gleam with every graceful move- 
ment. Her cheeks were round and daintily tinted, her 
lips seemed only for smiles and kisses, and the prettiest 
and most bewitching of dimples nestled in their corners. 

But above and beyond all this mere outward beauty 
there was something so pure, and innocent, and sweet 
about the fair young girl’s nature that every heart was 
won before it was aware of the fact; her loveliness, her 
guileless nature, and her gold brought scores of admirers 
to her feet, and her friends were numbered by the legion. 

But of how little real value all this admiration and 
friendship was she began to realize only when she was 
left alone, poor and desolate, in the world. 

Cecil Vavasour was as unconscious as a child of her 
loveliness; or, if not wholly unconscious of it, slie at least 
was not vain. She could not help knowing that she was 
beautiful — she had been told of it too often not to realize 
it — she had smiled back at her own exquisite reflection in 
her mirror time after time, but it was only with a feeling 
of gladness and pleasure^ such as she would have -experi- 
enced on looking at beautiful flowers, or in beholding 
some lovely work of art that gave delight botli to herself 
and others. 

There was not a spark of vanity or frivolty in her 
nature. 

Some people regarded her with indulgent smiles, call- 
ing her a pretty plaything — a doll — something to be pret- 
tily dressed, petted, and caressed, and taken about for 
shov/; but as for her usefulness, her character, and intel- 
lect, they were doubtful if anything could be said in her 
favor; and when at length her sad misfortunes overtook 
her, her wide circle of friends shrugged their aristocratic 
shoulders, smiled with indolent compassion, and mur- 
mured with indiflerent sympathy. 

What a pity that she must lose fortune, too — a baby 
like that can never take care of herself, and of course 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


15 


Howard Montgomery, with his splendid talents and his 
immense wealth, will never marry a nonentity/^ 

Howard Montgomery knew her differently, although 
even he did not realize until years after the strength of 
character, the energy and steadfastness of purpose which 
lay latent beneath her childish beauty, her sweet, clinging, 
gentle ways. 

He was six years her senior, and he had met many 
lovely women during the years that he had spent in so- 
ciety, but no one had ever so impressed him with truth, 
purity, and artlessness as Cecile Vavasour had done. 

She had twined herself at once about his heart with 
her frank, confiding manner, and he always turned from 
the vain and fashionable belles, who hovered about him 
with such inviting admiration, to this fresh, sweet girl, 
with a sense of rest and refreshment that charmed and 
won him. 

Every hour spent in her society only served to bind 
him more closely to her, and he soon learned that that 
pretty shining head contained more of wisdom and 
knowledge than many an older person possessed. 

She was light-hearted and gay, and while she dearly 
loved society and excitement, yet a portion of every day 
was given to thorough, systematic study. 

‘^Oh, Howard she cried, as she went forward to 
meet him now, ^^the day has seemed like a month; I 
am so glad you have come!'’'' and she clasped her two 
small white hands about his arm, and clung to him in a 
way that told him how very dreary she had been. 

He looked down upon her very fondly; she seemed 
doubly fair to him in her dusky robes wliich contrasted 
so vividly with her clear, pure complexion, and with the 
subdued, pensive air which had hung about her ever 
since the death of her parents. 

^^My darling, I know that you have been lonely, and 
I should have been here earlier had I not been planning 
some way to make your life less sad,'’ he replied, tender- 
ly, and folding his strong arm about her light figure, he 
led her to a sofa and drew her down to a seat beside 
him. 


16 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


^‘^You were planning something for me, Howard?^^ 
she asked, nestling her bright head against his shoulder. 

Yes, Cecile, I have been trying to arrange for, and I 
have now come to consult with you about our immediate 
marriage.’’^ 

^^Oh! Howard, you do not mean that, and papa and 
mamma only just laid away in Greenwood!^'’ the young 
girl cried, in a pained tone, while a burning blush suf- 
fused her face and lost itself among the feathery gold 
that lay low upoii her forehead. 

Tears sprang to her eyes and a grieved look settled 
about her mouth. 

How could she bear to think or talk of her own happi- 
ness while her dear ones lay so cold and silent in their 
newly made graves? It seemed almost like sacrilege to 
her. 

Howard Montgomery drew her yet closer to him. 

Dearest,^'’ he said, gravel}^ I know that you trust 
me fully, and you will know that whatever I plan for 
you will be according to my best judgment. You must 
not think me unkind if I talk business to yon for a little 
while, and tell you just how affairs stand. You already 
know something of the financial trouble that has swept 
away your father’s property, and now it becomes neces- 
sary that his creditors should be satisfied. They have 
considerately waited several weeks already, feeling a deli- 
cacy about disturbing you in your grief; but, Cecile, t])is 
great house is no place for you with only servants for 
companions.” 

“I know it is not, Howard, and I can never tell you 
how very lonely 1 have been; I would have been glad to 
go away before if — if there had been any place for me to 
go,” she said sadly, and Howard Montgomery’s face grew 
hot with shame and anger, that his sister should not 
have come forward at this trying time, and offered the 
sympathy and shelter which this poor lonely girl so much 
needed. 

There will be no trouble about that in the future,” 
he answered, as he brushed back the soft locks from her 
forehead and touched it gently with his lips, and you 


A TB¥E ARISTOCRAT. 


17 


shall live just where you prefer. I will do just as you 
say about the house — if you will be happier here than 
anywhere else, I will pnrdiase it and all it contains, and 
it sV ‘dl be your home still. But — it must be mine, too; 
your own good judgment will tell you that I could not 
do this for you except under the protection of my name; 
and Cecile, I kiiow that your father and mother would 
approve. You have no friends to whom you can go for 
a home; you are not fitted to take care of yourself; you 
are my promised wife; you intend to marry me some- 
time; why postpone the event when we shall both be 
happier together? and I^m sure you diO not care any more 
than I what the world may say regarding the proper 
period for isolation and mourning.-’^ 

‘‘No, Howard, Cecile answered, thoughtfully, but 
with downcast eyes and flushed cheeks, “whatever you 
might deem right and proper for me, and my own con- 
science approved, I should not ask the world to decide 
for me.^^ 

“Then, dear, may I ask you to waive your preroga- 
tive, and let me name the day for our marriage ?^^ her 
lover asked, smiling. 

Cecile sat erect, and turning to him with something 
of solemnity in her manner, laid her hands upon his 
shoulders, and raising her earnest eyes to his, said: 

“Howard, I am very young — six years younger than 
you. I have never been taught to depend upon myself, 
hardly to choose for myself upon any important ques- 
tion; I do not even feel that my education is complete; 
I have much to learn yet, and sometimes I think that 
my character has not developed fully, I have such 
strange thoughts, aspirations and feelings. You are far 
beyond me in intellect, education and years, and I am 
afraid 

“Afraid of what, my darling?^'’ the young man asked 
very tenderly, as she faltered. 

“ Afraid that as I am now I am not quite fitted to 
become your constant companion,'’^ she answered, lean- 
ing back upon his shoulder with a sigh; “I love you — 
with my whole heart I love you, Howard — in that I 


18 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


could never change; but I fear sometimes that I cannot 
keep pace with you, and — and I could not hear that you 
should be disappointed in me'. I had hoped that the 
year we were to have waited would help me to grow 
stronger in character, more mature and more womanl}^, 
and more companionable for you, who are so mucli wiser 
than 

And why cannot you mature and develop — why can- 
not you achieve all that you wish as my wife?’^ her lover 
asked, half wondering, half amused at this new phase of 
her character, this sweet, thoughtful gravity, in which 
she was very lovely. 

I slionld try just as hard, certainly, only 

Oecile's confusion, as she hesitated and glanced shyly 
up at him, was very charming. 

Only what?'^ 

She hid her eyes upon her breast, as if half ashamed 
to tell him her doubt. 

Only if I should not succeed, and you should be 
disappointed in me after all, there would be no help for 
you — you would be obliged to put up with me all your 

Howard Montgomery’s handsome face gleamed with 
amusement at the confession, but it was very fond and 
tender withal, as he wound both his arms about the 
lithe black-robed figure, and drew her almost convul- 
sively to his breast. 

‘‘Oh, my devoted darling! to think that you should 
plan to put yourself upon probation like that for me! 
I3id I not tell you that I loved you, and did you suppose 
that it would be possible for me to change anymore than 
for you? I want you just as you are; I cannot wait for 
what you will be by and by. I had no idea that you 
were thinking so deeply, so gravely — that your aspira- 
tions were so high. I shall have to look after my own 
laurels, or you will be outstripping me yet, and then the 
disappointment will be reversed. But, Cecile, if these 
are all your objections, we will be married to-morrow.” 

“ Oh, no! not to-morrow,” she interrupted, earnestly, 
yet half smiling; “ to-morrow will be Friday, and al- 


A TBUB AMISTOCEAT. 


19 


though I am not superstitious generally, I do not think 
I would quite like Friday to be my wedding-day/^ 

^•1 had not thought of its being Friday to-morrow/^ 
Howard answered, with luminous eyes, as he saw that 
she was yielding; ^^but will your ladyship object to 
Saturday? 

“Really, Cecile,^^ he added, as he saw the blood rush 
in a torrent to her blue-veined temples, “something 
will have to be done about the house next week/^ 

Cecile’s beautiful eyes Avandered about the loA^ely room 
in which they AA^ere sitting, and a wistful expression 
stole into them. It was hard to think that all those 
treasures that had been so dear to her must be cold and 
scattered in every direction. 

She sighed heavily; then looking up into her loveFs 
face she said, quietly, but Avith lips that quivered 
slightly: 

“Howard, it shall be just as yon say.^^ 

“Bless you, my own, you have taken a heavy burden 
off my heart. It shall be Saturday, at eleven, then, and 
we will be married here in your own home very quietly, 
Avith only a feAV of our real friends to Avitness the cei-e- 
mony — you shedl choose Avho they shall be, Cecile,” 
HoAvard said, feeling much relieved to have gained her 
consent so readily. 

“ They Avill indeed be very few*, Howard, and I shall 
have little difficulty in naming them,"^ Cecile answered, 
lifting her head someAvhat proudly. 

“Do you suppose,'^ she continued, as she met her 
lover’s questioning glance, “ that I do not realize the 
diffei*ence betAveen Oecile Vavasour of to-day and a 
month ago? Why, Howard, I have received less than a 
dozen letters of condolence, and no one save Helen and 
dear Mrs. Carrol, Emmie and Hattie, has come to sym- 
pathize vvith me in all my trouble. I knoAv that it is 
because I have lost fortune Avith father and mother, but 
the loss of such friends cannot harm me; they are not 
Avorthy the name, and nothing could make me Avholly 
wretched while you are true to me.” 

Cecile, you did not doubt me — ^you did not fear that 


20 


A TRUE ARISTOCBAT, 


I would be untrue?” Howard asked^ bending to look 
into ber eyes. 

He had winced as she spoke his sister’s name, but he 
would not hurt her by telling her of her fierce opposition 
to their marriage. 

‘^No, Howard, I did not doubt you. I believed you 
would be just as true to me as 1 knew I should be to you 
if our circumstances were reversed,” she answered, con- 
fidently, 

‘'Thank you, my darling, for your trust in me. I 
could not be false to you under any circumstances; but 
we will not mind the world. While we have each other 
we can be happy. How tell me, dear, what I shall do 
about the house? Shall I buy it? Would you still like 
to live here ?” 

A slight shiver disturbed Cecile for a moment, then 
she said, somewhat sadly: 

“Howard, it has been my home only a comparatively 
short time — two or three years. It is beautiful, and I 
have been very happy here; but it is so large, and it seems 
so dreary without papa and mamma, that I should like 
to have a smaller, cozier home somewhere; or if we could 
go away for a while, I should like it still better.” 

“ That would suit me to a charm, Cecile. I have been 
longing for a season of travel, and so, with your approval, 
we shall take a run over Europe, get away from all weari- 
some congratulations, visitings, etc., and be by ourselves 
for awhile,” Howard answered, eagerly, seizing upon the 
idea in order to take her away from all gossip and the ill- 
nature of his sister, who he knew would bitterly resent 
his marriage, and make his young wife very unhappy. 

“Oh, Howard, that will be so delightful! I have been 
hungering for Europe ever since I was a child,” the fair 
girl cried, almost joyfully. 

“ Well, dear, now that I have settled that knotty ques- 
tion, I have a few directions to give you, and then I 
must leave you until evening.” 

He took a package of blank cards from his pocket as 
he spoke, asked for pens and ink, and then requested her 
to write the word “ Sold” upon a portion of them, while 
he did the same upon the remainder. 


A TBUE ARTSTOCEAT. 31 

After this was done they tied twine through them, and 
then he made her go over the house with him, and choose 
from among its many treasures such articles as she would 
like to retain, attaching a card to each as they went. 

It was a hard task — a sad farewell to her beautiful 
liome; but Cecile bore it bravely, and made her selections 
with a wisdom an^ thoughtfulness which surprised her 
lover not a little. 

This ended he left her for awhile, for he had much to 
accomplish before the hour set for the marriage on Sat- 
urday morning. 


22 


A TRUE ABISTOCRAT. 


CHAPTER III. 

% 

^^WHO ARE YOU?’' 

F 'RID AY morning Cecile went out into the beautiful 
grounds in the rear of the Vavasour mansion for a 
little ramble. 

The poor child was lonely and sad, and not a little 
awed in view of the important event which was, so soon 
to change her whole life. 

She had been left almost entirely to herself since the 
death of her parents, her many acquaintances having 
dropped her entirely since learning of her changed cir- 
cumstances, while the few who remained true to their 
professed friendship did not feel at liberty to intrude 
themselves upon her lest they should be regarded as 
curious. 

Mrs. Carrol and her two kind-hearted girls alone had 
come to her with words of sympathy and cheer. A few 
had written stereotyped letters of condolence, and flat- 
tered themselves that their duty was done. 

“ Of course," they reasoned in the most comfortable 
manner imaginable, ‘‘Helen Langley will do the proper 
thing, and take the poor orphan into her family until 
some v'suitable arrangement can be made for her." 

But Helen Langley had very different ideas regarding 
the “poor orphan," and she meant to carry them out if 
it was in her power to do so. 

She had made one call upon Cecile after the terrible 
blow which had so bereaved her; she had attended the 
funeral of Mr. and Mrs. Vavasour, sat by the solitary 
mourner’s side, and had been most kind and affectionate 
— indeed all that a prospective sister-in-law could be at 
that time. 

She had afterward even invited her to go home with 


I 


A AHISTOai^AT, 23 

her, and stay until she could recover in a measure from 
the fearful shock tliat she had received; but Cecile pre- 
ferred to hide her bitter grief in the solitude of her own 
home, dismal and lonely though it might be, and so de- 
clined Mrs. Langley’s pressing invitation, for the present. 

But all this was before the terrible news of her poverty 
was made public; that wrought at once a complete revo- 
lution in the feelings and sympathy which had before 
been showered upon her. 

She had wondered why Mrs. Langley had not been to 
see her since; but she knew that she was very busy in 
the fashionable life she was leading, and so tried to ex- 
cuse her neglect in that way; and she was too proud to 
complain to Howard of his sister’s remissness, and so 
bore her pain and loneliness in silence. 

But she was destined soon to learn Mrs. Langley’s true 
character, for that lady was even then on her way to see 
what influence she could have upon the silly poverty- 
stricken girl,” to prevent her from niarryingher brother. 

^^Of course she will come to me now,” Cecile mused, 
as she walked thoughtfully back and forth under the 
arching trees that shaded the graveled walk. Howard 
will tell her that we are to be married immediately, and 
it would not be kind for her not to come to help and ad- 
vise me about what I shall need.” 

She reached the end of the walk and turned to retrace 
her steps, and, looking up, saw Mrs. Langley approach- 
ing. 

She had inquired for Cecile of the servant who an- 
swered her ring, and been told that she was walking in 
the grounds. 

Do not call her; I will go to her,” she replied, pre- 
ferring to have the interview occur where there was no 
danger of its being overheard. 

Cecile’s beautiful face brightened and flushed with 
pleasure as she hastened forward to meet her; but the 
smile froze on her lips, and her heart dropped like lead 
in her bosom, as she looked into that cold, haughty face, 
met the frigid glance of those great black eyes, and noted 
the scornful curve of her proud lips. 


24 


A THUE ARISTOCEAT. 


Miss Vavasour/^ sire began, almost before Cecile’s 
words of greeting were uttered, and in a tone so chill 
and. icy that it made the young girl shiver, learned 
yesterday that your misfortunes will compel you to leave 
your beautiful home, and I felt it to be my duty to come 
and make you a little farewell visit. How unfortunate 
that you are obliged to give up all this luxury I'"* the 
proud woman continued, glancing around the lovely 
grounds; ‘^but I trust you will find kind friends and a 
pleasant home. Where are you going?^^ 

The effrontery of the woman was beyond description. 

Cecile looked u^^ at her with wondering eyes, and 
blushed painfully, a feeling of resentment for a moment 
stirring her heart. 

Then ifc vanished, for she thought that Howard had 
probably had no opportunity to tell her of their ap- 
proaching marriage, and she was too sweet and gentle to 
cherish ill-will long toward any one. 

Perhaps ^he had heard that she was obliged to go 
away, and thought she might be going to visit some of 
her former friends for awhile; she might even be offended 
because she did not go to her instead, and that was why 
she had changed so toward her. 

But of course it would be all right when she knew 
she was so soon to become her sister — she would receive 
her kindly then. It was too bad that Howard had not 
told her, and they were to be married to-morrow, and 
she resolved to tell her herself. 

Yes, I expect I shall find very kind friends, she 
answered, with sweet shyness, the beautiful flush still on 
her cheek, and going nearer to the proud woman. As 
for the pleasant home,^^ she added, that will have to 
wait a little, but it will come in time, I suppose. Helen 
— I hoped Howard would be the first to tell you, but I 
suppose he has not had time to goto you; he wishes — we 
have decided — to be married right away and travel for 
awhile.” 

Mrs. Langley caught her breath at this announce- 
ment. 

Howard had been there, then, and settled everything. 


A TBU-i; ABISTOOBAT. 


25 


She had intended coming to see Cecile immediately 
after her interview with lier brother yesterday, and work 
upon her feelings in such a way that she would refuse 
to accede to his request; but callers had prevented, and 
she had been obliged to put off her visit until to-day. 

She turned a look of well-feigned astonishment upon 
the fair girl. 

Going to be married right away?^^ she repeated, as 
if this was the first she had heard of it. 

Yes; Howard thought it best; I am so alone, and"’"’ — 
with a little quiver of her sweet lips — ‘^almost friend- 
less; and besides, you know I am very poor now,"’"’ she 
concluded, with a half-appealing, half-deprecatory look 
into the hard, handsome face of her corr, panion. 

Yes, I know,” was the freezing reply, ‘‘and that is 
why I am so much astonished at your entertaining the 
thought of marrying my brother. Of course, you have 
had neither time nor money to procure a suitable trous- 
seau.” 

Cecile looked troubled, bewildered; not because 
she had no suitable trousseau, but because of the way 
in which Mrs. Langley had received her announce- 
ment. 

“That does not matter,”^he said with a sigh; “wait- 
ing would not bring me any money, and I do not^ care 
for a trousseau. 1 can wear nothing but black for a 
long time, you know, and as we shall go away immedi- 
ately it will make no difference.” 

“Of course you can wear nothing but black for a 
long time,” said Mrs. Langley, imjiatiently; “and who 
ever heard of such a thing as being married during a 
season of mourning? I am surprised at you, Cecile; I 
am surprised that Howard had not more sense than to 
suggest such a thing.” 

“ Do you think it would be so very improper?” Cecile 
asked, gravely, and fixing her earnest eyes upon Mrs. 
Langley. 

“ Certainly it would be very unconventional, very 
improper,” she answered decidedly, and hoping that 
Cecile's fear of public opinion would help her to carry 
her point. 


26 


A TliU'l^ ABISTOCBAT, 


But she soon discovered her mistake. 

Howard said he did not care what people might say, 
and I’m sure 1 do not. It is rather an unusual case, 
Helen; I have no one to take care of me now, and I am 
afraid that I could not take care of myself, brought up 
as I have been, so there seems nothing else for me to do; 
and as Howard wishes it, and I belong to him, 1 am 
content to let it be so,” Oecile said, thoughtfully, but 
still studying the face opposite her. 

Then you are going to marry Howard simply to be 
takeyi care. of — simply because he has plent}^ of money, 
and can give you all the luxuries to which you have been 
accustomed all your life and would find it disagreeable 
and inconvenient to do without in the future! That is 
a laudable motive, truly,” Helen Langley retorted, a 
sneer curling her red lips, her eyes blazing angrily upon 
the pretty speaker. 

A change passed over Cecile’s face. 

It grew white and pained, but her small, sweet 
lips all at once settled into firmer lines than were their 
wont; her eyes deepened, and the look which rested 
upon Mrs. Langley’s face was clear, steady, and unfal- 
tering. 

She realized now why I^elen had come to her and 
treated her in such a disagreeable way. 

She did not wish her to marry her brother; she was 
determined that she should not, now that she was no 
longer an heiress, and it was beyond her power to swell 
his fortune to even greater magnitude than it now pos- 
sessed. 

She understood now her coldness and neglect, her 
scorn, sneers, and haughty bearing, and although it 
wounded her sensitive heart to the core, yet she could 
but experience a feeling of contempt for one who would 
be so influenced by circumstances that were entirely be- 
yo)id her control, and could in no way affect her charac- 
ter or worth. 

She knew that she was just as worthy to-day of How- 
ard Montgomery as she had ever been, that his life 
would be ruined and her own rendered utterly desolate, 


A TR VE ABI8T0GRA T. 27 

if she should yield to this heartless woman^s will and re- 
fuse to marry him, and — s/ie did not mean to do it! 

She paused for a full minute, her eyes fixed steadily 
upon Mrs. Langley ^s, before she replied; then she said, 
with a quiet dignity which Helen had never seen in her 
before, and of which she had not thought her capable: 

‘^No, Mrs. Langley, I am going to marry Mr. Mont- 
gomery because — 1 love him.^' 

Mrs. Langley was somewhat taken aback at this reply: 
not so much by the words as the manner in which they 
were spoken. 

It told her that there was after all a decision about the 
girl that she had not thought she possessed, and her 
clear, ringing tones, her simple but conclusive declara- 
tion showed that the matter, at least in her own mind, 
was settled beyond recall. 

It angered her, too, to have that slight, delicate girl, 
who had always seemed but little more than a child to 
her — a lump of wax to be molded into any form at her 
own or her brother’s will, stamrthere so quietly, and say 
so decidedly, I am going to marry Mr. Montgomery 
because I love him.” 

It was as if, notwithstanding her poverty, dependence, 
and friendlessness, the simple fact of her love for him 
mades her worthy to be his wife. 

Helen’s face grew dark as she replied: 

Have you no consideration for him? Think of the 
difference in your positions now — Howard is rich, and 
might take his choice of the most eligible young ladies 
in New York, while you have lost all; you have noth- 
ing.” 

Oecile’S lips curled slightly. 

Helen, you do not wish me to marry Howard,” she 
said, quictl3\ 

“No, I do not,” Mrs. Langley returned, hotly. 

“Just because I have lost all my money! How would 
it be had it happened that our positions were reversed? 
If he had lost his property, and 1, still having plenty, 
desired to hold him to his engagement?” 

“ It is not a supposable case,” Mrs. Langley answered, 
coldly, but she colored vividly nevertheless. 


28 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


‘^^You are very unreasonable, Helen; you say I have 
no consideration for Howard, while it is you who do not 
consider. I know that he loves me as a man should love 
the woman who is to be his wife, and that his happiness, 
as well as my own, would be wrecked if I refused to 
marry him now. I know that his fortune is ample; that 
he does not need to increase it by wedding an eligible 
parti. I know that he never even thought of that when 
he asked me to become his wife, and so I shall never 
do him the wrong which you have come here to urge 
me to do. I have given him my promise and I shall 
abide by it,^^Cecile said, gently, but very firmly. 

Mrs. Langley bit her lips fiercely. 

But, Oecile, do you know what the world will say?^^ 
she asked, thinking it best to try a different line of 
argument. 

No,^^ the young bride-elect returned somewhat dis- 
dainfully, and it will not matter to me what it says, so 
that Howard is satisfied with me.'’^ 

^^AVell, it matters to me, Mrs. Langley answered, 
losing all patience. I have some regard for the speech 
of people if you have not. I cannot see Howard about 
to commit such folly without making an effort to save 
him. It is not proper that he should marry you, now 
that you have lost your position in the social world — a 
Montgomery — and we are all very proud and aristocratic 
— never yet married into a poor family. It will injure 
his social standing, it Avill injure his business prospects, 
and he will be the talk of his whole circle of acquaint- 
ances. Besides this, you are many years younger than 
he, and it is more fitting that he should choose some one 
more mature — you are but a child in years and character 
— he will soon tire of you when he begins to realize that 
you are too simple-minded to be a congenial companion 
for him; then, I think, your silly notions about love will 
not amount to much. The Montgomerys have always 
been wealthy and occupied the highest possible position 
in social life, and I toill not have Howard lose caste by 
stooping to wed a girl like you, without a dollar to her 
name. Cecile Vavasour, you must give up my brother.'' 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


29 


Cecile’s face was no longer white and sad. 

A bright red spot burned on either cheeky and a 
strangely brilliant light had shot into her eyes during 
these last bitterly-spoken sentences, while her slender 
form seemed to have grown at least two inches taller. 

Mrs. Langley, she said, in icy but perfectly lady- 
like tones, while I do not forget that you belong to the 
vaunted Montgomery race, you will please remember 
that I am a Vavasour, and if I have lost my money — 
and money, in my opinion, does not constitute the true 
aristocrat, as your words seem to imply — I have, at least, 
as blue blood in my veins as yourself. Were you any 
other than Howard’s sister, I should not trouble myself 
to reply to the insulting language which you .-have just 
heaped upon mo. I do not mean to be reminded by you 
— as you seem to take delight in doing — that I have lost 
my property; I Jcnoio that I am wretchedly poor to-da}^ 
but I have not lost my good name, nor my self-respect, 
nor my love for your brother, and with these still untar- 
nished, I shall give myself into his keeping as his wife, 
without a fear for the future. You claim that a Mont- 
gomery never yet married into a poor family; that is a 
boast from which I think I could gain very little real 
satisfaction, and now, for once, it seems there will have 
to be an exception to the rule, and it remains to be 
seen whether the result will prove disastrous or not. It 
is true that I am six years younger than your brother, 
and that I am not very mature in my appearance, but 
every year will, I trust, serve to remedy that objection, 
and if he is content 1 cannot fail to be. As for his tiring 
of me, Helen, Cecile said, a tender smile wreathing her 
beautiful lips, “ he will never do that — my love for him 
is too deep, and pure, and absorbing for me not to put 
forth every effort to Iceejo the grand and noble heart that 
I have won.^^ 

‘^You are Howard’s sister/^ she went on, a wistful 
expression for.an instant coming into her eyes, ^^and I 
would have been glad to have our relations continue 
friendly; but, Mrs. Langley, let me say once for all, that 
I cannot submit to any such system of browbeating and 


30 


A mVIJ ABIBTOCBAT, 


arrogance as 3^011 have instituted to-day. To-morrow I 
become your brother's wife, and, it will rest with you 
whether our relations in the future are amicable or not. 
Good morning.'' 

And before the astonished woman could recover from 
her surprise, Cecile had turned, and, speeding down the 
path, was half way to the house before she could recover 
her breath. 

Mrs. Langley watched her until she disappeared within 
the door, noting her graceful bearing, her slender, per- 
fect form, and her firm, proud step. 

She had not half had her say out, but it could not be 
helped now; Cecile's calm, quiet dignity, her decisive 
words, anti her dauntless manner had taken her entirely 
by surprise. 

thought she was but a pretty doll — a vain, silly, 
empty-pated girl, but I was never more mistaken in my 
life," she muttered to herself; she has the fire and spirit 
of ten ordinary girls, although she is usually so quit and 
gentle. What a pity she has lost everything — I could 
find no fault with her but for that." 

With these observations she returned to her carriage, 
which was waiting, for the last time, for her, before the 
stately mansion of the Vavasours. 

As she was upon the point of entering it, a swarthy 
hand was thrust before her, and a plaintive voice said: 

Please, missis, give me a dime. I'm powerful hungry." 

She turned and found a tall, finely-formed woman of 
color — evidently an octoroon — standing by her side. 

She was apparently about fifty 3’ears of age, and she 
must have been very handsome when she was young, for 
the remnant of a grand beauty yet lingered upon her 
clear-cut, regular, though sharpened features. 

She w^as poorly, though neatly dressed in a dark clean 
print, with a white handkerchief crossed upon her bosom, 
after the fashion of the colored people of the South. Her 
abundant hair, somewhat wavy, but smooth and glossy 
as polished jet, was twined in a massive coil at the back 
of her head; a finely-shaped head it was, too, with a broad, 
intellectual forehead, such as is seldom seen in one of 


A TEUE ABISTOCJIAT. 


31 


her race. Her eyes v/ere large bat very expressive, and 
there was a peculiar mournfuluess in them just now, as 
she lield out lier hand for tiie paltry sum she had craved 
to buy bread to satisfy the demands of hunger. 

As Helen Langley turned to see who was begging of 
her the woman fell back as if some unseen person had 
struck her a blow, and uttered a low cry of surprise, that 
was at the same time half a moan of terror, her face 
blanching to a sickly yellow. 

Something in her intensely black eyes, her clear-cut, 
regular features, and in the stately bearing of the woman, 
arrested Helenas attention — nay more, it startled her! 

Who are 3^011?'''’ she asked, with a strange tightening 
about the muscles of her throat. 

A poor woman wdio is hungry, missis,” the creature 
returned with averted face, but evidently struggling with 
some inward emotion. 

‘MYhat is your name?” 

Selma,” was the brief reply. 

Selma? Selma what?” and the proud woman of 
fashion bent nearer, awaiting her answer with strange 
eagerness, the color forsaking her cheeks, a half- won- 
dering, half-frightened look in her e3^es. 

The woman glanced up at her — a quick, earnest, 
searching glance. 

‘^Nothing but Selma,” she said sullenly, although she 
was trembling visibly. 

^MVhere were you raised? Were 3^11 born in Ken- 
tucky?” sharply demanded Mrs. Langley, while she 
clutched at the strings of her hat as if they choked her. 

The womaiYs lips twitched nervously, her face was 
ghastly pale, and she folded her arms across her breast 
as if to quell the fierce throbbing of her heart, which 
even sti/red the spotless kerchief folded over it, as she 
answered in husky tones: 

Kentucky! Kentucky!” 

The words were like a moan of pain; then lifting her 
proud head with a sort of pitiful defiance, she con- 
tinued : 

Kever mind, missis, where I was raised. I’m only 


32 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

Selma — wandering Selma, with no friends, no home, 
nothing. Give me some money, honey, please. I^s pow- 
erful hungry; you’re rich, you’re like a queen, so grand, 
so beautiful.’-’ Her eyes lighted with wonderful bril- 
liancy as she went on: You are never hungry, you 

never want for anything. Ah, honey, pray God you 
never may. You could not bear it — you, so like a deli- 
cate flower; but — please, missis, one dime.’"’ 

‘^Thank’ee, honey,” she concluded, as Helen dropped 
a piece of silver in her outstretched palm, and then 
turned' away with blanching lips, a look of terror in her 
eyes, and with a wildly beating heart she groped her way 
blindly into her carriage and sank breathless among its 
luxurious cushions and was driven away, while the poor 
creature who had begged from her stood looking after 
her with heaving breast, tightly clenched hands, and a 
face that was almost convulsed with anguish. 

Helen Langley, bn reaching her home, went directly 
to her bedroom, shut and locked the door, and then 
threw back her vail and looked in the glass. 

I feel — yes, and I look as if I had seen a ghost, and 
I lelieve I have !” she faltered, with lips that still were 
colorless. 


A AHISTOCHAT. 


83 


CHAPTER lY. 

MAREIED. 

C ECILE was cut to the very heart from her interview 
with Mrs. Langley. She was mortified, grieved, 
angry. But a certain pride and dignity of which she 
herself liad not been aware of possessing until now sus- 
tained her, and she resolved that she would not allow 
that woman^s insolence and arrogance to make her mis- 
erable. 

All day long, however, the scene of the morning re- 
mained in her mind, and the more she thought of it 
the more she despised Helen for the part she had played 
in it; and yet she felt quite sure she would bend all her 
energies, and use all her influence, to persuade Howard 
to relinquish all idea of marriage with her. 

She will not succeed,'’^ she said to herself, with a 
quiet smile of trust, as she sat in the fading light at 
the close of the day, waiting for her lover to come. 

Howard is as true as truth itself, and he will never 
be influenced by her, and I shall do as he wishes and 
my own heart dictates. For once,” and she could not 
repress a smile of scornful amusement at the thought, 
'‘^a Montgomery^ will marry a ‘poor girl,^ and I will 
yet show Helen Langley that one of her proud race will 
be prouder of the fact — prouder to acknowledge me, who 
have not a dollar to bring him,, as his wife, than if I 
was the possessor of millions.” 

The fair face of tlie young bride-elect had seemed to 
change since morning. 

There was a deeper, more thoughtful look in her 
dark- blue eyes — there were firmer, graver lines about 
her sweet mouth; indeed, her whole countenance had 
assumed a more mature expression, while there was a 


34 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


dignity in her manner and carriage that she had never 
possessed before; she was beginning to be conscious that 
life held some stern realities, and that it would require 
much of decision and independence to meet and conquer 
them. 

She resolved not to mention the fact of Helenas visit, 
and its object, to Howard when he came. She knew it 
would make him both indignant and unhappy, and do 
her no good beyond arousing his sympathy for her; and 
unless he should see fit to mention his sister^s objections 
to her first, he should never know of the ordeal to which 
she had been subjected that day. 

But Howard said nothing; he had been very busy 
all day arranging with Mr. Vavasour's creditor's regard- 
ing the articles that he wished reserved for Cecile, 
while his own business also had demanded much atten- 
tion. 

He had sent a note that morning to Mrs. Langley, tell- 
ing her of his intentions, and requesting her presence at 
the ceremony on Saturday, at eleven. He had also 
mentioned that he and his bride would sail for Europe 
the week following. 

Helen did not receive this note until after her return 
from her visit to Cecile, and then all the notice she took 
of it was to cast it angrily into the fire, and vow ven- 
geance upon the poor, inofensive girl,' if ever the oppor- 
tunity should occur. 

Howard very thoughtfully made arrangements with 
Mrs. Carrol and her two daughters, of whom Cecile had 
spoken, to go to her the night before the wedding, and 
remain until it was over, that she might not feel so 
utterly alone, and might have some one to counsel and 
assist her in the necessary preparations for the event. 


Saturday — a bright, glad morning in the last of May 
— a very small, select company gathered in the great 
parlors of the Vavasour mansion to witness the cere- 
mony that was to make Cecile Vavasour the wife of 
Howard Montgomery^ 


A TBWB AJilSTJCBAT. 


35 


Very fair and beautiful the young girl looked, as she 
entered the room a few minutes past eleven, leaning on 
the arm of her manly lover. 

Her dress was exquisitely simple and lovely, composed 
of white crepe, with no trimming save full ruchiiigs of 
the material. 

Her veil, which completely covered her, was fastened 
over her golden hair, which shone like sunshine through 
mist, by two huge, simple pearls with invisible settings, 
and comprised her only ornaments. 

There was not an atom of color about her, save the 
dazzling gold of her hair, and the wonderful azure of 
her eyes, and she seemed almost like some heavenly 
vision, too pure and beautiful for earth, and more than 
one of the few guests present felt the tears rise unbidden 
to their eyes as they looked upon the lovely orphan, and 
realized tlie deep sorrow through which she had so re- 
cently been called to pass, and thought how much of 
sadness must be mingled with the event of that import- 
ant hour. 

Some surprise was felt that Mrs. Langley should ab- 
sent herself from the wedding; but those present were 
too well-bred to express it, and the fact was quietly ig- 
nored. 

When Howard had gone to Cecile^s boudoir to lead 
her below, he found her alone, and waiting for him. He 
stopped with a quickly drawn breath upon the threshold, 
as she turned her pure, tender eyes upon him. 

She seemed to him almost like some vestal virgin, too 
pure to belong to the world, too sacred to be claimed by 
him; but the glad light which glorified her face when 
she saw him, dispelled his fancies, and he went forward 
and took her reverently into his arms. 

‘^My darling,'’^ he whispered, tenderly, ^^you seem be- 
yond me to-day. Somehow I do not feel worthy of you."’'' 

Howard, donT say that, please, for you are all that 
I have in the world, and it is / who am not worthy of 
^ou/' Cecile returned, clinging to him. ''But,^^ she 
added, a glow coming into her cheeks, believe that 
our Iwe makes us worthy of each other.” 


36 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


Howard smiled. 

^‘What wise and apt little sayings you utter some- 
times, Cecile/Mie said. ""Yes, I believe that our love 
is true and pure, and that alone would make us worthy 
of each other. But, dearest, I never saw you so lovely 
in your life before as you are now.'’"’ 

Her eyes deepened an'd glowed. 

"" That is what I shall live for henceforth, to be lovely 
iu your sight, Howard,” she said. 

He bent forward and kissed her tenderly, the caress 
expressing more than words could have done,'^nd at 
that instant the clock upon the mantel chimed eleven 
strokes with its silver hammer. 

Both started slightly at the sound. 

""Who is below?” Cecile asked, a grave look settling 
over her face. 

""The Eldreds, Leverns, Frank Hovey, Appleton 
Tracy, and the Carrols — only a very few, dear, besides 
Eev. Mr. Lathrop.” 

Her eyes still lingered upon his as if she would ques- 
tion him further, and he seemed to interpret their mute 
query, for he continued, a flush rising to his brow: 

""Helen has not come, although 1 sent her word yes- 
terday at what hour the ceremony would occur. I of- 
fended her deeply a few days ago, and perhaps she 
has not forgiven me yet. But do not allow her absence 
to trouble you, my darling; she will feel ashamed of it 
by and by. 

"Cecile made no reply, but almost unconsciously her 
form straightened, and her head assumed a prouder poise. 
The blood of the Vavasours Avas every bit as good as that 
of the Montgomerys, and Helen Langley should never 
trample upon her simply because fortune had favored her 
with a heavy purse. 

""Are you ready, love?” Howard asked, wondering 
somewhat at the cold look that shot into her eyes. 

And for answer she gravely laid her white-gloved hand 
upon his arm, and they went below into the flower- gar- 
landed room, where, in a feAv simple, but solemn Avords, 
the clergyman made them husband and wife, praying 




A mUB AHISTOCBAT. 


37 


earnestly that the best of earth^s blessings might be theirs 
as they walked together on life's journey, while not one 
of that company dreamed of the fearful darkness, wretch- 
edness, and misery which was to shroud their pathway 
almost from the very beginning. 

More than once during that short ceremony a choking 
sob arose in Cecile's white throat as she thought of those 
dear ones sleeping in Greenwood, and that she could 
receive no fond parental blessing on the most important 
day of her life. 

But she gave no outward sign of her sorrow; she was 
fast learning lessons of self-control, and no one would 
have imagined from her grave and composed manner that 
bitter longing and heart-breaking grief were raging within 
her bosom. 

The words were spoken, and Cecile Vavasour was How- 
ard Montgomery's wife. As he lifted her vail and touched 
her lips there was a world of love in his look, and of re- 
pressed tenderness in his manner. 

The congratulations which followed were very quietly 
though earnestly spoken, for every one felt the sadness 
that hung over the house, and knew that anything like 
demonstrative joy would grate on the young bride's sen- 
sitive nerves. 

A sumptuous breakfast had been spread in the grand 
dining-room; the last that Cecile was to eat in the beau- 
tiful home where she had been so happy and free from 
care; and after this was served the guests departed, leav- 
ing the newly-made husband and wife to take their fare- 
well of the place by themselves. 

They gathered together what few treasures they were 
to take with them — the remainder were to be carefully 
packed and stored until their return from Europe — and 
then went away to spend the week that remained to them 
before sailing at the Grand Union Hotel. 

Three days later an auctioneer's flag waved over the 
porch of the Vavasour mansion, and one after another of 
its luxurious appointments were struck off to the highest 
bidder, and it was not long before the lofty rooms and 
halls were rifled of their beauty and glory, and left empty, 
silent, and desolate. 


38 


A TBUB AHISTOCEAT. 


The following Saturday Mr. and Mrs. Howard Mont- 
gomery went on board the Britannia, of the White Star 
line, bound for their European trip. 

As they were passing from the carriage to the steamer 
Howard suddenly stopped, saying he would 'like to get 
some morning papers, and leading Cecile to a small wait- 
ing-room near by, he left her to go in search of some. 

She had not been alone more than a minute w^hen a 
boy darted into the room and thrust a note into her 
hand, then disappeared as quickly as he had come. 

She instantly recognized him as being Mrs. Langley^s 
errand boy, and surmised at once from wdiom the note 
might be. 

Imagining that it might contain something of an un- 
pleasant nature, she put it into her pocket, thinking she 
would not read it until she could be by herself. Howard 
was liable to return, and she did not wish to disturb him 
unnecessarily. 

Half an hour later, while her husband was busy look- 
ing after their baggage, she slipped into their state-room 
and read it. 

It was curt, insolent and bitter. 

Cecile Vavasour: — I shall never forgive you, and 
you wdll live to regret the step you have taken. You 
may live for years thinking you are blessed and happy; 
you may travel the world over; but vengeance will pur- 
sue you and wait for you. You are the cause of a bitter 
estrangement between me and my brother, and when he 
tires of you, as I know he will, you will experience some- 
thing of what I now feel. You have defied me, and for 
that beware! I repeat, you will live to regret it. 

Helen Langley/^ 

Cecile^s face was pale as she read this, but a smile of 
scorn curled her lips, while she tore the note into atoms 
and scattered them out of her wundow upon the waters. 

It is but the idle threat of an angry woman. I give 
it to the winds," she said. 

Howard tire of me? Never!" she continued, a look 


A TBUB ARISTOCRAT, 


39 


of high resolve settling over her face. Helen Lang- 
ley, you have made a mistake in your estimate of my 
character, and you will live to find that I had something 
better than money to give to your brother when I be- 
came his wife — a love that will overcome every obstacle 
for his sake, and make me so necessary to his happiness 
'and life, that name, fortune and position will be nothing 
in comparison.'’^ 

When her husband sought her to go on deck and watch 
the steamer leave her moorings, Cecile^s face was as 
serene and untroubled as if no such person as Helen 
Langley existed, and she had indeed given her threats to 
the winds. 


40 


A TRUE ARISTOCBAT. 


CHAPTER y. 


A PKESEiTTIMENT. 


YEAR of foreign travel; a year of wandering among 
scenes of beauty and art; a year of such perfect joy 



and blessedness as seldom falls to the lot of human beings 
in this sin- blighted world; a year of utter content, of 
freedom from care, of delightful study and culture, and 
then Howard Montgomery and his fair young wife began 
to long for a return to their own country. 

To Cecile this year had passed like a beautiful dream. 
They had been everywhere, and seen everything, and in 
every place. This aspiring young wife had bought 
books and maps, and made herself mistress of both the 
history and geography of the locality, reading by the 
hour to her husband, determined that this opportunity 
should be improved to the utmost. She studied art and 
artists with a zest which few travelers possess, and be- 
came so familiar with the style and works of the old 
masters that she could tell, almost at a glance, to whom 
a painting belonged. 

Seldom, I ween, do tourists visit the Old World and 
garner up knowledge, and store away incident, and ro- 
mance, and legend, as did this fair enthusiast, who had 
vowed to rise to her husband^s level, and make herself so 
necessary to his happiness that the evil prophecy of his 
ill-natured sister — “that he would tire of her^^ — could 
never by any possibility be fulfilled. 

Hand in hand, all by themselves, with no one to 
annoy or criticise, these wedded lovers had visited the 
palaces and galleries of art scattered through all Europe; 
they had roved through the fragrant groves of orange, 
and lemon, and olive, in sunny Italy — spent weeks in 
the “Eternal City, visiting the ruins of its temples. 


A TBWjS; AJilSTOOBAT. 


41 


palaces, and churches; they had traversed the deserted 
streets of those once buried but now partially excavated 
cities, Herculaneum and Pompeii, climbed Vesuvius, and 
sailed upon the fair Bay of Naples. 

Now they ascended the Alpine heights — now spent a 
few weeks upon the shores of some beautiful lake, and 
penetrated into Russia, Austria and Turkey. 

Ah! it was a year never to be forgotten; it was like a 
poem — a vision of delight; and just as the moon of the 
twelfth mouth was waning, there came to the happy 
couple a crowning joy — a sweet spirit in human form, 
dainty, perfect, almost divine. 

A second Oecile this little one bade fair to be, and in 
this wondrous happiness of fatherhood and motherhood, 
it almost seemed as if heaven itself had opened for 
them. 

Howard, it makes me afraid,^^ Cecile said one day 
with a sort of awe stealing over her as they were both 
hovering over the little one with tender smiles and fend, 
happy faces. 

‘‘ What makes you afraid, my darling he asked, 
in surprise, but bending forward to kiss her beautiful 
lips. 

This happiness — our love — this perfect content.^' 

Are those not strange things to be afraid of? What 
do you fear?^^ he asked, smiling down into her serious 
eyes. 

‘‘ I do not know,” she, answered, with a slight shiver, 

but do you remember that perfect day when we left 
Venice for a sail down the Adriatic? The sea was like 
burnished silver; the sky like an azure dome; our vessel 
like a cradle; but before we were aware of it the heavens 
grew black, the waters like a boiling caldron, and a ter- 
rible death stared us in the face for hours. Do you re- 
member, Howard?” 

Yes, dear, of course I remember; no one could for- 
get so terrible an experience. But why do you speak of 
it in connection with our joy now? Surely you do not 
anticipate that our life, so aus[)iciously begun, will ter- 
minate in anything so fierce and disastrous? You are 


42 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 



weak yet, from yonr illness, Cecile. I fear you are nerv- 
, ous and imaginative. Let us take our happiness as it is 
given to us, and not mar it unnecessarily by the expecta- 
tion of , evil, Howard returned, fondly. 

^‘1 suppose I am foolish to think of any such thing, 
but, oh, Howard! I am so perfectly happy and content; 
so honored and blessed in your love, and almost trans- 
ported with delight in the possession of this little living 
gem — this priceless treasure whom God has sent to us, 
that I tremble lest something should occur to poison our 
joy — to dash our brimming cup to the ground.-’^ 

Cecile,^^ her husband answered, gravely, I realize 
as well as you that our life at present is filled with bright- 
ness ’ and promise, and 1 can discern as yet no shadow 
that is likely to fall upon it. But we know that trials 
must come to every one; they will doubtless come to us 
in some form or other; I expect them, and if God sends 
them I trust that we shall 'both bear them in the right 
spirit; for we know it is those ^ whom He loveth that He 
chasteneth.-’ But while we have each other — while we 
love each other, have our health and our child spared to 
us, we can bravely meet almost anything else.'’^ 

Ah, yes!” Cecile said, earnestly, could bear any- 
thing else. I should not dread any earthly trouble, if I 
could only be assured that these blessings will be vouch- 
safed to me. But since we have talked of returning I 
have felt oppressed at times. Howard, I could bear any- 
thing cheerfully; there is nothing in the world I could 
not bear better than to lose you or your love,” she re- 
peated, almost tremblingly, while she twined her fail- 
arms about his neck and laid her cheek to his. 

He leaned back and looked into her face, his own very 
grave; her intense, passionate devotion moved him 
strangely. 

Little children, keep yourselves from idols,” he mur- 
mured, softly, then added, with a solemnity which she 
had never seen in him before: 

My love is something that you can never lose while I 
live; for myself, of course, I cannot answer, as I am not 
my own keeper. But,” he continued, more brightly. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


43 


not, my darling, take /that horrible day upon the 
Adriatic as an omen of our future. I never dreamed that 
the memory of it would cling to you in this way; or if it 
will haunt you in spite of yourself, do not forget its 
glorious close; its matchless sunset; its gorgeous clouds, 
which hung like beautiful paintings upon the western 
sky; our peace and joy for our safety, after our extreme 
peril; how we glided smoothly into port over the almost 
pulseless bosom of the waters, and the enchantment of 
the mellow voices of the Italian sailors, as they caroled 
their evening hymn. If we get through life with only one 
storm,'’'’ he added, laughingly, ‘‘I think we may consider 
ourselves very fortunate, and we shall do better than very 
many people.” 

Cecile’ smiled at his pleasantry, but there was a wistful 
look, notwithstanding, in her fathomless eyes. 

She could not own even to him how vividly Helen 
Langley^s malicious words had impressed her ever since 
they had begun to talk of returning to America, and as 
she turned to take her child, who just then waked, she 
breathed an earnest prayer that all evil might be kept 
from her treasures. 

Little Margaret Montgomery, or Daisy,” as they 
fondly called her, first opened her starry eyes to this world 
on the borders of beautiful Lake Geneva, where, in the 
shadows of glorious old Mont Blanc, and beneath lovely 
Alpine skies, they rested for several weeks. 

When Cecile was strong enough they went from here 
to Paris for a month; from there to London for another 
week, and thence to Liverpool, where they were to take 
the steamer for home. 

At Liverpool they were unexpectedly detained for three 
or four days, as the vessel on which they had intended to 
sail had met with an accident during her last recurn voy- 
age, and could not be repaired in season for the adver- 
tised date of sailing. 

They took rooms, during this delay, in a hotel not far 
from the pier from which the steamer sailed, and they 
were not at all sorry for their detention, as it gave them 
an opportunity to revisit some places of interest over 


44 


4 TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


which they had been obliged to hurry during their pre- 
vious sojourn there. 

A good nurse had been obtained for baby Daisy, a 
young, strong, good-natured Scotch girl, who desired to 
‘^emigrate to America to seek her fortune,^'’ and who was 
delighted to have the care of a lovely child; so Howard 
and his wife felt perfectly free to go and come as they 
chose. 

Oecile had now fully recovered her strength and usual 
health — indeed she was even more beautiful than when 
she had left home. 

Perfect happiness, removal from all sorrowful associa- 
tions, and lier year of study and sight-seeing had done 
much for her. 

She had grown at least two inches in height, and she 
had acquired a polish, a dignity, and self-possession which 
enhanced, tenfold, her other charms. 

Everywhere they went the handsome, distinguished- 
looking Americans attracted attention and respect, and 
Howard Montgomery was exceedingly proud of his lovely, 
accomplished wife. Indeed, he was more deeply in love 
with her than he had been before their marriage, and 
could his sister have seen them together, she would have 
thought any other result was likely to occur rather than 
what she had prophesied — that ‘Hie would tire of her.^^ 

The Germanica was at length ready to sail, and on 
a bright, perfect day in July, our friends went on board 
and settled themselves comfortably for the homeward 
voyage, both light-hearted and joyous, anticipating this 
home-coming with all the delight which all long-absent 
wanderers experience when their faces are set toward 
their native shores. 

After their traveling appurtenances had been disposed 
of in their state-rooms, baby Daisy — who was sweetly 
sleeping — deposited in a berth, and nurse sitting by to 
watch her, Howard took his wife on deck to find a com- 
fortable place for their chairs, where they might watch 
other arrivals, and the steamer as she left her moorings. 
He found a cool, shady spot, beneath a bridge of the 
upper deck, settled Oecile in hei' chair, placed a footstool 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


45 


for her feet, and then tossing some magazines into her 
lap, asked if she was “ comfortable.” 

I am alwa3"s that — you never allow me to be any 
other way but comfortable,” she answered, smiling 
affectionately up into his face. 

His glowing eyes told her that if they had been be- 
yond observation she would have" received something 
more than a verbal return for her sweet appreciation of 
his attention. 

He stood beside her, not feeling inclined just then 
to sit, and taking off his hat, drew forth his handker- 
chief to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. 

As he did so a paper that had been in the same pocket 
dropped at his feet. 

He stooped to pick it up, and a blank look instantly 
settled upon his face. 

“ What is it?” Cecile asked, observing it. 

It is the bill for the rugs and shawls that I bought 
for you and nurse, yesterday,” he said in dismay. I 
have forgotten to settle it.” 

^‘Oh, Howard! how did it happen? It is not like 
you to forget anything like that,” Cecile said, rue- 
fully. 

I know it,” he returned with a troubled air; ^^but 
I had just paid our passage-money and found that I had 
not quite enough with me to settle the bill, so I told the 
clerk of whom I had purchased the articles to send the 
bill to the office of the hotel and I would pay it there. 
I received it last evening, and intended to. go at once and 
make it ‘all right but met Jacobson, who had just ar- 
rived on the Britannia, from New York, and became so 
interested in talking over home matters with him that 
it slipped my mind; then you know we all went to the 
theater; and to-day, with all the bustle and confusion, 
of course it has not occurred to me.” 

What can you do about it?” Cecile asked, anx- 
iously. 

Howard looked at his watch. 

“ There are two hours yet before the steamer sails,” 
he said, meditatively. can easily go and settle it in 


46 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


half an hour; the shop is only a few steps from the hotel 
where we stopped/^ 

'"Oh, Howard! could you not send? If anything 
should happen/’ Cecile said, nervously. 

" What could happen, dear? The store is not ten 
minutes' drive from here. I can easily go and return 
in half an hour; but to make sure I will see the cap- 
tain." 

He turned abruptly, and left her as he ceased 
speaking, and Cecile shivered as if from the cold, while 
the day seemed suddenly to have lost half its bright- 
ness. 

" How foolish I am," she murmured, impatiently. 
"Of course Howard would run no risk, and I have no 
right to question his judgment;" and yet there was a 
strange sinking at her heart — a presentiment of some 
coming evil. 

Howard soon returned, looking much relieved. 

" The captain says there will be plenty of time, dear," 
he said, " so I will take a carriage and go just as quickly 
as I can." 

" I loish you did not need to go. Is there not some 
one whom you can send instead?" the young wife asked, 
reaching out to take her husband’s hand, and clinging 
to it. 

"I wish I did not need to go, too; but it serves me 
right for my carelessness," he answered, smiling. 
"I do not know of any one whom I can send — every- 
body is busy on board, and I should not know whom 
to trust. I must have the bill receipted, too, you 
know." 

Still Cecile clung to him; it did not seem as if she 
could let him go. 

" Do not worry, my darling. I will return with all 
possible dispatch, and I should not like to go home leav- 
ing a bill like this unpaid." 

He bent down to her, ostensibly to wrap the shawl, 
which was falling from her shoulders, more closely about 
her, but really to touch her anxious brow reassuringly 
with his lips, and then he made his way quickly from 


A TRUE ABISTOCBAT. 


47 


the steamer, while as she watched his retreating form 
there rose to Cecile^s mind with a vividness that was 
startling the memory of that terrible day on the Adriatic 
— of that storm which had so nearly wrecked them — so 
nearly blotted them out of existence. 

Was it some bird of ill-omen whispering to her of the 
dark future awaiting her — of the pain, and suffering and 
’toil, of the misery and suspense that were to test her 
endurance, her faith and love to the utmost? 


48 


A TRUE ABISTOCEAT. 


CHAPTER VI. 

SHALL :N'EVEE see AGAIN." 

C ECILE took up one of her magazines after her hus- 
band left her, and tried to read. 

Hut she could not fix her attention upon anything; 
her mind followed Howard anxiously, and there was a 
feeling of -unrest and foreboding in her heart that some- 
thing might occur to detain him beyond the hour ap- 
pointed for sailing. 

How foolish I am," she murmured again; there aro 
two hours. He will be as anxious as I to get back, and 
of course will use all possible dispatch; besides, the cap- 
tain said there would be ample time, and it is worse than 
folly for me to be so nervous about it." 

She lay back in her chair and looked out over the 
waters of the river, noting the diffeiient kinds of vessels 
with their busy sailors, and the gayly-colored flags of 
many countries floating on the breeze. 

It was a lovely day, almost as perfect as that when they 
had started for their sail down the Adriatic, and slie 
shuddered visibly as the thought intruded itself upon 
her mind again. 

‘MVliy need that experience haunt me so now?" she 
said, with a strange dread and tension at her heart, while 
the look of anxiety deepened in her eyes. 

^^lam getting imaginative, nervous, unreasonable; 
there can be no probability of a storm to-day, with such 
a sky as this and in this latitude. How cool and deli- 
cious the breeze is as it sweeps up the river; I tvill not 
think of anything unpleasant — it is childish and weak 
in me. How comfortably Howard has arranged every 
thing for me; I believe I am actually getting drowsy sit- 


A TBVE AEISTOCHAT. 


49 


ting here. How thoughtful for my comfort — how good 
he is to me.^^ 

H^r golden head, surmounted by its dainty sea-hood of 
delicate blue, lay back upon its pillow of rich crimson, 
her round, fair cheek and perfectly molded chin seeming 
more delicately fair and beautiful by contrast; her blue 
eyes looked off upon the river with a dreamy gaze, while 
a smile, tender and fond, played about her red lips as 
she recalled her husband’s devotion to her every need. 

Gradually the blue of the sky seemed to dissolve into 
the dully^ gray of the waters — dull gray into blue; the 
murmuring of many voices, the treading of busy feet, 
sounded farther and. farther away; the golden lashes 
drooped; the crimson lips parted just enough to show 
tips of white teeth beneath, and Cecile Montgomery slept. 

She had been broken of her rest the night previous, but 
she had not been conscious of any weariness or languor 
until left there by herself, with the sunlit waters spark- 
ling around her, and the cool, delicious air playing about 
her, and softly fanning her with its drowsy wings. 

She and Howard, with their friend who had just ar- 
rived from New York, had attended the theater the 
previous evening, and upon their return little Miss Daisy 
had taken it into her small, willful head to give an extra 
entertainment of two hours’ duration; so that more than 
one of the wee srna’ hours” of the morning had struck 
before the anxious young father and mother had been 
able to close their eyes in slumber. 

A gentleman, standing upon the bridge above, looked 
down upon the unconscious wife as she lay there in her 
quiet repose, and thought he had never seen so perfect a 
picture in all his life as that fair face outlined against 
the rich, warm hue of the pillow; the golden hair stir- 
ring gently about her whi^ forehead like flickering sun- 
beams, the lovely tinted cheek, the parted coral lips, and 
the small, perfect hands clasped above the folds of her 
luxurious shawl. 

He had been pacing back and forth upon the upper 
deck for nearly an hour; he seemed to be alone among 
that busy, surging crowd, which he studied with a 
shrewd, searching gaze as lie passed ^nd repassed. 


50 


A ABISTOOHAT. 


He had seen Howard Montgomery and his young wife 
when they had first come np from their state-room; he 
had remarked his thoughtful attention for her; how he 
had lingered OTer his work of arranging her shawls and 
pillow, as if the little service was a delight to him. He 
had seen Howard^s perplexity over the paper he had 
dropped, although he could not hear one word of their 
conversation, and Cecile^s evident anxiety at his decision 
upon some point; he had noted the light but tender 
caress that he had dropped upon her brow as he left her 
to go on shore, and his heart had been strangely stirred 
with interest in this handsome, loving couple. 

^^Some bride and groom on their wedding tour,^^ he 
thought to himself; ^^but he has a right to be fond of 
her, for she is wonderfully beautiful; and he — well, it 
is not often that a couple are so well matched as tO) good 
looks. 

Every time he passed over the bridge, involuntarily 
he glanced below at the fair young wife; and, now that 
he saw she was sleeping, he could not forbear to linger a 
moment and feast his eyes upon her delicate beauty. 

There was nothing bold or rude in his gaze; only an 
intense appreciation of the beautiful; and, almost before 
he was aware of it, he found himself repeating: 

“ She sleeps : her breathings are not heard ; 

The fragrant tresses are not stirred 
That lie upon her charmed heart. 

She sleeps ; on either hand up swells 
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest. 

She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells 
A perfect form in perfect rest.” 

He started as the words died on his lips, as if sud- 
denly conscious that he was guilty of rudeness; and 
lifting his hat reverently, as if he stood on sacred 
ground, he cast one lingering look below and then went 
away. 


Cecile was conscious of a strange sensation when 
she awoke; perhaps it was that which caused her to 
awake. 


A AmSTOOJiAT. 


51 


She sat up suddenly, every sense on the alert in a 
moment, her deep blue eyes wide with surprise, her 
cheeks flushing vividly, her hands clasped with a sudden 
fear. 

The Britannia had cast off from her moorings, and 
was moving slowly down the Mersey, hut — where was her 
husband? 

It was only for an instant, however, that this feeling 
of dismay lasted. 

A smile curved her ripe lips, a tender light leaped into 
her eyes. 

“^How absurd of me to be so startled!” she mur- 
mured. He has returned, of course, and finding me 
asleep, would not disturb me.” 

But she cast aside her wraps, arose from her chair, 
and made her way down to her state-room, where 
Martha, the nurse, sat with baby Daisy on her lap, and 
who was cooing and talking to her in the most social, 
habyfied manner imaginable. 

Cecile’s face lighted, and she smiled, like the fond 
mother that she was, at the pretty sight. 

She bent down and kissed the soft, chubby little 
hands, wdiich appeared to be keeping up a boxing-match 
with some invisible foe, and tenderly toying for a moment 
with the golden ring of hair that clustered around the 
small head. 

Then she asked: 

Martha, have you seen Mr. Montgomery?” 

‘■^No, madam. I thought he was above with you,” 
the girl answered. 

Instantly the smile faded from Cecile^s lips, the light 
from her eyes, the color from her cheeks. 

Surely, if her husband had returned, and found 
her sleeping, his next thought would have been for his 
child, and he would have come at once to their state- 
room. 

She turned quickly and left th5 place, threading her 
way^ swiftly along the passage, up the stairway, to the 
deck once more. 

With a sinking heart, she searched the lower deck 


62 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


thoroughly; then mounting to the upper, she paced its 
entire length, her cheeks whitening with a terrible fear 
as she looked in vain for the familiar, idolized form of 
her husband. 

A sensation of desolation began to steal over her; 
everywhere her quick, anxious glance encountered 
crowds of people, and all were strangers; there was not 
a face there that she had ever seen before. 

With trembling limbs and faltering steps she made 
her way down into the saloon, where she eontinued her 
quest with the same result. Howard was nowhere to be 
seen. 

Down into the dining-room, where the stewards 
were laying the table for dinner, she crept, looking 
like some beautiful spirit, her white face gleaming like 
chiseled marble, her azure eyes growing wild and full of 
terror. 

Madam is sick; she is faint from the motion of the 
boat,^^ a steward said, approaching her and startled by 
her ghastly looks. 

^^No, I am not sick,’^ she answered, with colorless, 

Q uivering lips; but I am looking for my husband. I — 

fear he has been left behind.*'’^ 

Her fear given expression to, seemed more appalling 
than ever. 

How could she bear the ten or eleven days that must 
follow, and not know her husband’s fate? 

The suspense would be intolerable. 

Where can 1 find the captain ?’" she asked, leaning 
against the side of the vessel for support, for she was 
very weak and trembling with nervousness. 

The captain is probably in the wheel-house,” the 
steward answered, bending a look of compassion upon 
her white, beautiful face, and she turned to retrace her 
steps to the deck. 

But her strength began to fail her; she reeled, and 
would have fallen, but the kind-hearted steward saved 
her. 

He assisted her up the stairs, and just as they reached 
the top they encountered the gentleman who had stood 


A mWE AmSTOOBAT. 53 ^ 

upon the bridge looking down upon Cecile while she 
slept. 

He, too, thought she must be affected by the motion 
of the boat; that white face surely must be an indication 
of that dread disease of the nerves — sea-sickness. 

He lifted his hat courteously. 

Can I be of any assistance? Madam is sick; allow 
me to help you to your chair, he said in peculiarly rich, 
mellow tones. 

Cecile shook her head; she was never troubled with 
what the French call mal de mer, except in the roughest 
of weatherj^and then but slightly; but she was — oh! so 
sick at heart. 

Madam is not ill; she fears her husband has been left 
behind,^'’ the steward explained. 

The stranger^s face expressed dismay for a moment; 
then he said : 

‘^Impossible! He, of course, knew the hour of sail- 
ing, and he would allow nothing to prevent his being on 
board in seasom The steamer is very large; he must be 
here somewhere, I think. If madam will allow me I 
will assist ir^Jooking for him.^^ 

Cecile was a trifle cheered by this sympathy and offer 
of aid. She saw at once that he was a gentleman, and 
she instinctively trusted him. 

It was barely possible, after all, that Howard had re- 
turned, and might even now be in some part of the vessel 
examining the machinery or some other object of in- 
terest; but it was not like him — he was ever watchful 
for her comfort, he idolized his child, and it was very 
strange if he had returned and had not gone to either of 
them. 

However, it was a ray of hope to which she could 
cling for a little while, and she seized it eagerly. 

“ My husband was obliged to go ashore after we came 
aboard,” she explained. “ He left me sitting in my 
chair, where I went to sleep, and when I awoke I was 
badly frightened to find that the steamer had started.” 

“ It is natural that you should feel somewhat alarmed 
under the circumstances,” the stranger returned; “but 


. A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


^4 

I still cling to the opinion that he is here somewhere. 
However/^ he added, drawing a card from his pocket 
and handing it to her, ^^if you will let this serve as an 
introdaction and permit me to act as your escort, we will 
look for him together.'’^ 

Cecile glanced at the name npon the card. 

Gregory Mortimer, M.D., San Francisco, Oal.,^^ she 
read. 

She liked the name. It had a strong, reliable sound, 
and looking into the noble face, she felt lighter of heart, 
in spite of her forebodings. 

His manner, too, was reassuring; it invited confidence, 
and she felt that she could commit herself to him with- 
out a fear. 

'"Thank you. Dr. Mortimer, Cecile answered, her 
face losing a trifle of its misery; "allow me to introduce 
myself as Mrs. Montgomery, and I shall accept your offer 
very gratefully, as I am an entire stranger to every one 
on board, and as you met me I was feeling about as 
wu’etched as it is possible for any one to 

She took the arm he offered, and together they went 
over the vessel, looking into every place where it was 
likely that any one would go. 

" He is not here,"’"’ Cecile said, in despair, when, for the 
fifth time, they had traversed both decks, and her eyes 
ached and her brain grew dizzy with looking into every 
face they encountered. 

"He would have come to me — he never would have 
left me in such suspense all this time; something has hap- 
pened to him — some accident; he never would have missed 
the steamer otherwise. What shall I do?’"’ 

Her face was like chalk, her lips trembled, and she 
was ready to sink from exhaustion and nervous fear. 

"I will take you to your chair, and then I will see the 
captain,"^ her companion remarked, looking very grave 
himself now. 

He, too, felt that the man who had parted so tenderly 
from her so recently would not have allowed her to suffer 
this suspense on his account; he would have come to her 
before this, had he been on the vessel. 


A TBZTjSJ ABISTOCBAT. 


55 


He led her back to the place where she had last seen 
her husband, put her into the chair, and arranged her 
pillow and wraps, and then went in search of the captain. 

In a few words he related Cecile^s trouble, and the 
captain remembered the fact of Howard’s coming to him 
to ascertain if there would be time to go ashore and trans- 
act his business; and he now appeared quite disturbed to 
find that he was still missing. 

He instituted inquiries, and another and more vigorous 
search; but it is needless to say that it was as fruitless as 
the others had been. 

More than an hour had elapsed since the vessel sailed, 
and if he had been among the passengers he must have 
made his appearance before this. 

Dr. Mortimer reluctantly went back to Cecile with the 
evil tidings. 

^^Mrs. Montgomery,” he tried to say cheerfully, 
fear we shall be obliged to forego the pleasure of your 
husband’s company on this voyage; doubtless something 
unforeseen detained him longer than he was aware of. 
But it will probably be only seven or eight days before 
we shall arrive in Hew York, where you will doubtless 
find a cablegram awaiting you explaining the cause of 
his unfortunate delay.” 

You cannot find him,” she said, in a strained, un- 
natural voice, and the look that she bent upon him 
haunted him for months afterward — it was so appealing 
yet so despairing. 

“Ho; the captain has had every nook and corner 
searched; but ” 

“Something has happened to him — some dreadful ac- 
cident — I shall never see him again!” Cecile moaned, and 
fell back in her chair white and still, like some fair flower 
with the life suddenly crushed out of it. 


56 


A TRUE AEI8T0CRAT. 


CHAPTEE VII. 

POOR CECILE. 

T he news of the mysterious disappearance of the 
husband of that beautiful Mrs. Montgomery" 
spread over the steamer like wild-fire, and the deepest 
sympathies of the passengers were instantly aroused for 
the unfortunate young wife. 

Dr. Mortimer himself carried her immediately to her 
state-room, anxious to get her away from curious eyes, 
and remained there with her, applying restoratives until 
she recovered from her swoon. 

Then as he looked into her eyes and met the look of 
settled despair written there, his great heart ached for 
her. 

She made no wild outward demonstration of grief; she 
did not even weep and bemoan her hard lot, as most 
women would have done; she made no complaint, but 
the lines of agony stamped about her sweet mouth, her 
white, hopeless face and sad eyes, were harder to en- 
counter, and appealed more strongly to one^s compassion 
than the loudest lamentation would have done. 

'^Do not be unduly anxious, Mrs. Montgomery," the 
noble-hearted doctor said to her. ^^I know your posi- 
tion is an exceedingly trying one, but I feel confident 
that you will receive a cablegram as soon as we arrive. 
It will probably be brought to you before you leave the 
boat, and as another vessel sails three days later, it will 
probably be only ten or twelve days before you will be 
joined by your husband again." 

He really believed what he argued; neither he nor the 
captain attached so very much grave importance to Mr. 
Montgomery’s absence, beyond the annoyance and anx- 


A TBiri; AmSTOOBAT. 57 

iety which his wife must necessarily suffer on his ac- 
count. 

Such incidents had occurred before, where people, 
having been detained by unforeseen circumstances, had 
taken the next steamer and arrived only a few days later 
than the one on which they were intending to sail. 

But Oecile only murmured again in a hopeless tone: 

‘‘ Something has happened to him; nothing but some 
fearful accident would have kept him.” 

For three days she lay in her berth, and could not be 
tempted to leave it — indeed, she seemed utterly pros- 
trated by the blow. 

While her baby slept she would insist upon holding 
her in her arms close to her heart, and would gaze upon 
her with such a worshipful yet heart-broken expression, 
as if she felt that the little one was all that she had left, 
and it was some comfort to have her near her, that even 
strong Dr. Mortimer and the hardy captain could not 
look upon her unmoved. 

The captain was very kind, attending personally to 
many of her wants, showing her every attention in his 
power, in the way of sending her fruit, delicacies, etc.; 
but to every entreaty that she would go on deck, where 
she could have the benefit of fresh air, she turned a deaf 
ear; she shrank from the gaze of strangers, until Dr. 
Mortimer appealed to her motherhood. 

Positively, Mrs. Montgomery,” he said, ^^you are 
not only doing yourself serious injury by remaining in 
this close atmosphere, but your child is suffering in con- 
sequence; you must consider your own health for her 
sake.” 

Oecile looked alarmed. 

Is Daisy ill?” she questioned, turning to Martha, 
her heart throbbing wildly with a new fear. 

“No, madam; not ill, but she has been very restless 
and fretful for the last two days,” the girl answered. 

“Is it because I have been grieving so?” she asked 
anxiously of the doctor. 

“ Yes,” he said, decidedly, but tears stood in his manly 
eyes as he looked at her. 


58 


A TBUIJ AHISTOOBAT. 


He was determined to get her out of that wretched 
cabin, even though he knew that every sensitive feeling 
recoiled from the thought of becoming an object of pity 
and observation to others. 

^^Then I will go on deck immediately/'' Cecile said, 
starting up. I have been thoughtless — selfish; oh! my 
Daisy, if I should lose ^ou, tooT^ and she caught the 
child to her convulsively. 

She allowed them to wrap her in shawls and rugs and 
carry her above, and many an eye grew moist with sym- 
pathy as they looked into her wan face and saw the evi- 
dences of suffering depicted there. 

Every day after that Dr. Mortimer’s first duty, after 
he had taken his breakfast, was to bring her above and 
put her in the coziest corner of the deck, where, sheltered 
from the rough winds, she would lie all day quiet and 
pale, looking out absently over the rolling waters, mak- 
ing no trouble, and noticing no one, save her baby, as 
from time to time Martha brought the little one to her. 

Every dainty which the vessel afforded was brought to 
her, but at first she turned with loathing from food. 

I cannot eat; it would choke me,” she said, with a 

sob. 

Here Dr. Mortimer’s tact served a good purpose again. 

You must,” he said, decidedly, and taking little Miss 
Montgomery from her nurse’s arms he planted her upon 
her mother’s lap, saying, with a gayety which he was far 
from feeling: 

There, Miss Daisy, tell your mamma to look at you, 
and disobey my commands if she dare.” 

The child’s face was somewhat pale, and her large 
blue eyes looked up at her mother with a sort of wistful, 
wondering gaze. 

Cecile gathered her close to her heart with a low moan, 
for she saw at once that she was not looking well. 

My darling, my darling, I will do anytimig for your 
sake,” she murmured, brokenly. 

And she obediently and faithfully followed the physi- 
cian’s every suggestion after that. 

It is doubtful if so much of interest ever centered in 
one person on shipboard before. 


A Tl^iriJ AmSTOOHAT. 


59 


But the forlorn and beautiful woman, with her lovely 
sapphire-eyed child, appealed to every heart. 

Matrons and maidens, old men and young, besieged 
Martha as soon as she made her appearance on deck in 
the morning with Daisy in her arms, and during those 
eight days of the voyage the young nurse found her duties 
comparatively light. 

She never allowed the child to go out of her sight, but 
patiently followed whoever took her, until he or she was 
ready to relinquish her to her care again. 

■Most of the passengers were too well-bred and delicate 
to force their attentions and sympathy upon the suffering 
mother, and so it found vent and expression in the pet- 
ting of her little one. 

As they drew near New York, Cecile grew very rest- 
less and nervous. She said nothing, but it was easy to 
tell from her manner how her imj)atient heart was long- 
ing for the hour of arrival. 

Her eyes lost their heart-broken expression, while an 
anxious, almost wild look, took its place; a spot of red 
burned on either cheek, her hands grew hot and feverish, 
and her whole appearance caused Dr. Mortimer no small 
amount of uneasiness. 

The tension of her nervous system, he knew, was Very 
great, and he feared a reaction. 

If there is no message for her when we land, I shall 
fear the consequences,^^ he said to the captain, as they 
paced the deck together during the last evening on ship- 
board. 

think that she mus^ receive one,'"’ he replied. I 
cannot conceive of any accident that could have occurred 
to him in the short distance he was obliged to go from 
the vessel. 

After breakfast on the last day before landing, Martha 
came to her mistress with an anxious face. 

“ Madam, the purser gave notice this morning that the 
tickets would be collected at dinner to-day, she said. 

Cecile looked up at her, startled. 

'^The tickets!'’'’ she I'bpeated. 

^^Yes^m.^^ 


60 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


‘^Martha, I have no tickets. Mr. Montgomery had 
them/'’ she said, a vivid flush overspreading her whole 
face, as this new difficulty presented itself. 

So I supposed, madam, but I thought I ought to tell 
you,^^ the girl answered. 

Certainly; but what can I do? I have not more than 
fifty dollars in my purse, and that sum would not defray 
half the amount of our passage,’^ and Cecile looked ex- 
ceedingly anxious; but this intelligence served to arouse 
her more than anything else had done during the voyage. 

She sent at once for the captain, and stated her dilem- 
ma to him. 

She knew, she said, that her husband had purchased 
tickets, for he had spoken of the fact in connection 
with the business which had called him aw'ay before they 
sailed. 

He did not doubt her statement in the least, but the 
law of the company required that every ticket should 
be taken up before the vessel arrived in port, and of 
course he must comply with the regulations. 

Of course if I had the necessary funds I should 
not hesitate to repay our passage,^'’ Cecile said, noticing 
his grave look; ‘^but,^^ she continued, frankly, al- 
though the color arose to her temples, I have only 
about fifty dollars by me. I never dreamed of such a 
contingency.’’^ 

Of course you did not, madam,^^ the captain re- 
turned, politely, and I will do what I can for you. 
Do not give yourself any uneasiness, for I do not 
doubt that the matter can be arranged in some way.'^ 

But the fact remained — he had brought so many 
passengers from England to America, and he must 
have either their thickets or an equivalent. If How- 
ard Montgomery ever returned and presented the 
tickets he had paid for, the money would be refunded 
to him; if he did not, of course his wife^sand her nurse^s 
passage must be paid, and he knew he must demand it 
now. 

Still his sympathies were with her, and in her present 
trouble and impecuniosity he could not bear to press 
his claim. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


61 

He sought Dr. Mortimer, and stated the matter to 
him. 

The physician's face clouded, and then the blood 
rushed to his brow. 

Why could she not have confided in me?" he mut- 
tered to himself. 

Then, excusing himself to the captain, he said: 
will see you again presently." 

He went directly to Cecile. 

Mrs. Montgomery," be said, in a straightforward, 
manly way, the captain has just told me of the dif- 
ficulty in which you find yourself. It is very un- 
fortunate, truly, and I wonder it had not occurred 
to me before that you might be in some such trouble. 
Will you allow me to settle this matter for you? 1 shall 
be in New York several weeks, and it will give me great 
pleasure to do this, and relieve you from all further 
anxiety; while your husband, upon his arrival, can 
present his tickets, and the company will of course re- 
fund the pri6e of them." 

‘‘Dr. Mortimer," Cecile responded, gratefully, “you 
are very kind, and I am under great obligations to 
you for all that you have done for me during this very 
trying voyage. I accept your offer in the same spirit 
in which it is offered, and thank you most heartily, for 
it certainly will relieve me of a very unpleasant dif- 
ficulty." 

She held out her hand to him as she spoke, and as he 
took it in his strong clasp, bending low over it, a strange 
thrill shot through his whole frame. 

He was a grand, noble-looking man of perhaps thirty- 
five years, possessing a massive form, broad-chested, 
square-shouldered, with a fine head, crowned with wav- 
ing chestnut hair, firmly and proudly poised thereon. 

His forehead was broad and full; his brown eyes 
gleamed with kindness and intelligence, and his mouth 
was expressive of gentleness and sweetness of soul, truth, 
and nobility of character. 

He was a man to trust, to honor — yea, almost to 
reverence. 


62 


A TRUE ABISTOCRAT. 


He had been a successful practicing physician for sev- 
eral years in San Francisco, but during the last six 
months he had been abroad for rest and a litt>e insight 
into the mode of treating diseases in the old country, 
and now fate had sent him to the aid of this delicate, 
high-bred woman, who from the first had possessed a 
peculiar charm for him. 

An intense excitement prevailed, a few hours later, on 
the Britannia, when the pilot came aboard bringing the 
ship's mail with him. 

There were papers, letters, and telegrams for many of 
the passengers, but no cablegram for poor Cecile, and a 
shiver of dread and apprehension ran through Gregory 
Mortimer's nerves while he eagerly looked over the mail 
as it lay in the dining-room, found nothing, and realized 
the painful duty that remained for him to perform. 

Slowly and sadly he went above to carry the disap- 
pointing news to the anxiously waiting wife; his feet 
seemed shod with lead, and he dreaded to meet those 
mournful, appealing blue eyes more than he had ever 
dreaded anything in his life before. 

Cecile was watching for him in a fever of impatience, 
for she knew when he went below to look for her. 

Her eyes burned, her hands shook, and her voice was 
hoarse and unnatural as she asked: 

‘'Did you find anything?" 

He took both her trembling hands in his, and said, 
compassionately: 

“ Mrs. Montgomery, there is nothing; but do not lose 
heart; your husband will surely be here on the next 
steamer." 

He tried to speak hopefully, but his own heart was 
strangely depressed. 

“ Cecile had not realized until that moment how much 
she had hoped; but now every support seemed taken 
from her. 

He is dead, or- he would surely have sent me some 
word!" she wailed, and dropped senseless to the deck. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


63 


CHAPTER VIIL 


MATCHED. 



HEN Cecile came to herself again she was in 


vv a large, richly-furnished apartment of the St. 
Nicholas Hotel, New York; but with consciousness 
there came such a sense of dreariness and misery that 
life seemed almost too great a burden to be borne. 

For a time she seemed almost benumbed, and not even 
the fretful cries of her child had power to arouse her; 
but on the morning of the fourth day after her arrival 
she suddenly inquired if the Germanic had arrived. 

Yes,^^ answered Dr. Mortimer, who had come in a 
few moments before; she came in two hours ago.^^ 
Were you at the pier?’" Cecile demanded, with glit- 
tering eyes and in a strained voice. 

Yes; but, dear child,"" he said, in reply to her im- 
ploring, questioning look, ^‘Mr. Montgomery did not 
come, neither was his name on the list of passengers. 
Try, however, and be brave for a few days longer — he 
may come on the next boat."" 

Yet he felt as if the words were almost mockery as he 
uttered them. He was convinced now that something 
of a very serious nature must have occurred to keep 
Howard Montgomery on the other side of the ocean, 
without sending one word to relieve the suspense of his 
sutfering wife. 

For a few moments neither spoke, but it seemed as if 
years had suddenly been added to Cecile"s age — as if all 
hope had been blotted out of her life forever. 

At last she sat up and clasped her hands across her 
brow with a low moan — her bruised heart would not bear 
its crushing woe and be utterly silent. 


/ 


64 A TMUB ABISTOCBAT. 

But that was all the sign she gave of her suffering, be- 
yond the agony that was visible in her countenance. 

After a few moments she looked up into Dr. Morti- 
mer^’s face, while over her own there had settled an ex- 
pression of resolution, and said: 

Will you order a carriage for me. Dr. Mortimer?” 

Order a carriage for you, my child!” he exclaimed 
in astonishment; “ you are not able to go out.” 

“Yes, I am,” she returned decidedly, “and I must 
go at once to my husband^s sister.” 

“Ah! Mr. Montgomery has a sister, then, in the 
city?” he said, a look of relief flitting across his face. 

He had heard her speak of no one during all her 
trouble, and he had often wondered if she had friends 
upon whom she could depend during this hour of trial. 

“Yes; Mrs. Colonel Langley, who lives on Fifth 
Avenue.” 

“ I am very glad to hear this,” he answered, ^'and I 
think the best thing you can do will be to go to her. If 
you are sure your strength is equal to what you propose, 
I will call a carriage for you, and accompany you also, if 
you desire.” 

“ Thank you,” Oecilc answered calmly, but in a tone 
that was hollow and spiritless, “but I liave trespassed 
too long upon yo:ir .hindiijS;. already, and I shall do very 
well if 1 have a carriage^ Martha, of course, will accom- 
pany me.” 

Dr. Mortimer bowed, then arose and left the room to 
do her bidding. 

He returned in about twenty minutes, saying that a 
carriage was waiting, and found that the small family 
were all ready for their expedition. 

Cecil e was arrayed in a dark but tasteful street dress, 
while baby Daisy had been made irresistible in Paris 
robes of finest texture and heaviest embroidery, and hon- 
est Martha, in her neat traveling suit, was evidently very 
proud of her beautiful charge. 

They all went down together. Dr. Mortimer assisting 
them to enter the coach, and seeing that everything was 
arranged for their comfort. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


65 


Shall you remain here at the St. Nicholas for awhile 
longer?"^ Oecile asked of him as they were about start- 
ing. 

Yes, I shall remain here while I am in the city; can 
I do anything for you?” he returned. 

Thank you, no; but I wished to make sure where I 
could find you, as I shall hope to see you again before you 
leave;” then she signified her readiness to go on, and was 
driven away. 

In less than an hour Cecile Montgomery stood in the 
presence of Helen Langley — of the woman who had 
taunted and insulted her before her marriage — who had 
sent a cowardly threat after her when she had started out 
upon her new life with bright hopes and a heart full of 
happiness. 

It had required no small amount of courage and a 
sacrifice of pride to humble herself sufficiently to come 
to her now; but her extremity required it. 

She was indebted to a man who was almost a stranger, 
for her passage across the Atlantic; she had scarce money 
enough to defray her hotel bills and carriage hire; she 
did not know the name of her husband^s lawyer, and she 
did not know to whom else to go for aid. 

She had resolved to borrow of her husband^s sister until 
she could see Howard's lawyer and obtain the necessary 
funds from him. 

A look of astonishment had flashed over Mrs. Lang- 
ley^s face when she entered her parlor and discovered 
who was awaiting her there, but it was quickly followed 
by a frown, as she turned to look for her brother. 

Then her eyes fell upon Cecile's child in the lap of her 
nurse, and her face grew radiant. 

She loved children dearly, although none had ever 
come to brighten her own home, and this dainty little 
bud won the heart of every one. 

She swept across the room with quick, eager steps, took 
the child in her arms, and kissed her repeatedly. 

She had not even answered Oecile's words of greeting; 
she had not noticed her sorrowful face and drooping 
manner. 


66 


A TBUE ARISTOCEAT. 


Is this your — is this Howard’s child?” she demanded, 
abruptly. 

‘‘Yes” Oecile answered mournfully, while her heart 
involuntarily began to warm toward her haughty sister- 
in-law for her tenderness for her little one. 

^^Her name is Margaret. We call her Daisy,” she 
added, with a sigh. 

Mrs. Langley suddenly gave the child back to Martha, 
her face hardening again, as if she was suddenly conscious 
of the hostile attitude which she had assumed toward 
this intruder. 

^^Why are you here?” she asked, abruptly. ^‘^Did 
Howard send you? Where is Howard?” 

I do not know where Howard is,” Cecile answered, 
wringing her hands, and almost losing her self-possession 
at this question. 

What is this you are telling me — ^you do not know 
where Howard is?” Helen Langley repeated, almost 
fiercely, and with blanching lips. 

No; I do not know;” and then in a few brief sen- 
tences Cecile related her sad story, and told her why she 
had come to her. 

Mrs. Langley listened with an expression of fear on 
her face at first; then as Cecile went on, a strange evil 
light leaped into her eyes, and by the time she had fin- 
ished she was cold and hard as adamant again. 

This is a strange story , to say the least, that you have 
told me,” she said, with an accent of scorn; but do 
you suppose I am going to believe it?” 

^MVhy should you not believe it?” Cecile asked, 
wonderingly, yet flushing at the doubt cast upon her 
veracity. 

You sag that Howard left you to go on shore to 
pay a bill only two hours before the steamer sailed. Do 
you think I do not know my brother better than that? 
He would never be so careless as to leave a bill unpaid 
until so late an hour; he was always prompt and exact 
in all business matters. No; there was a graver rea- 
son than that, let me assure you,” the hardened woman 
retorted, with asperity. 


A TBUjSJ ABISTOaHAT. 


67 


there was no other reason; what other motive 
could there have possibly been?^"’ Cecile asked, regarding 
her with astonishment. 

‘^Are you so stupid than you can assign none?^' was 
the spirited reply, while the woman's eyes blazed 
vindictively. Did I not warn you how it would be 
even before you were married? I knew my brother 
better than you did. I told you that he would tire of 
you, and now you have lived to see that my words are 
proved true. He has borne with you for a year; he has 
found that he could not endure it; he put you on board 
the steamer, and then made an excuse to leave you, 
that he might be free to enjoy life in his own way, 
and not be hampered with uncongenial society; 
you " 

^^Hold, Helen, you have said enough; you shall 
not thus insult your absent brother — you shall not 
defame my husband's character," Cecile said, in 
stern, authoritative tones, while she arose from the 
chair where she had been sitting and confronted 
Mrs. Langley with a bearing as proud and dauntless as 
her own. 

Perhaps you think to wound me," she went on, her 
red lips curling scornfully, by talking to me in this 
way; but I am too confident of my own position to al- 
low your words to have a feather's weight with me. If 
you really believe what you say, you cannot be so well 
acquainted with your brother's character as you sup- 
pose yourself to be, and are doubtless measuring him Gy 
you own standard. No word of discord has ever passed 
between Howard and me; we were perfectly united in 
every thought, and our tour has been a source of de- 
light to us both — a journey to be treasured as a blessed 
memory all our lives. I tell you that something has 
happened to him — he is sick, or, what I fear worse, 
dead," the stricken wife concluded, with a shuddering 
sob. 

Helen Langley caught her breath at the word, but she 
made no other sign of the fear in her own heart; she had 
determined to drive Cecile to desperation if possible — to 
have a taste of revenge" before she let her go. 


68 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


she said fiercely, ^^he is neither sick nor dead; 
but he has forsaken you — he has tired of your tamely 
pretty face, your , simple, babyish ways. I told you that 
you could not keep pace with him intellectually, and he 
has found, all too late, that he was bound with fetters 
that he could not endure.” 

‘^Do you think that your brother — a Montgomery — of 
whose pride, honor and nobility you have boasted to me, 
would thus desert a helpless woman, leaving her penni- 
less among strangers, with the care of a little child — his 
child, too — and no friends to whom she could go when 
she arrived at the end of her journey? Surely your ideas 
of Southern chivalry are exalted indeed,” Cecile re- 
sponded, indignantly and scornfully. 

Tamely pretty” — babyish,” Helen Langley had 
called that gloriously beautiful woman confronting her; 
but even as she had said it, her heart was burning with 
a fierce jealousy as she realized how grandly she had de- 
veloped during her year of absence. 

She was taller than when she went away, exquisitely 
proportioned, with features over which a sculptor would 
rave, eyes that burned and fiashed with intelligence and 
thought, a high-bred air which proclaimed at once the 
cultivated lady, and a self-possession which all the over- 
bearance and insolence of the proud woman of the world 
could not shake. 

She knew well enough that if Howard had loved her 
when he married her he must worship her now; but even 
though she was wildly anxious over the intelligence 
which Cecile had brought her concerning his mysterious 
absence, she was determined to torture her by mocking 
at her grief, refuse her all aid, and drive her into a cor- 
ner, to carry out a suddenly formed scheme of her own. 

^^You need not think to impose upon me,” she re- 
torted. Howard has forsaken you.” 

^^Ho you think he has no love for his child?” Cecile 
interrupted, with quivering lips and dilating nostrils. 

I^Of course he has, but what could a man do with a 
child of that age? He will probably allow you to keep 
her until she is a ^ year or two older; then he will come 


A TBITB ABISTOCBAT. 


69 


and take her and give her the advantages which it is 
proper that the daughter of a Montgomery should re- 
ceive/^ was the heartless response. 

Cecile drew herself up haughtily, her sapphire eyes 
blazing, her whole form dilating with a sense of outraged 
pride. 

Helen Langley,'’^ she said, ^^your own heart tells 
you that you are uttering the grossest falsehoods. You 
do not believe that my husband has forsaken me — you 
are only saying it to torture me, and you are actuated by 
the same spirit which prompted you to write me that 
malicious note on the day that I sailed for Europe widi 
Howard. But although I know that J have not been 
deserted, that does not alter the fact that I am here 
alone, friendless and almost penniless. I came to you 
believing, for the sake of the love you have always pro- 
fessed for your brother, that you would not refuse to aid 
me until I can apply to his lawyer for the funds that I 
need. Howard had our tickets with him when he left 
the steamer, and I was obliged to borrow the money to 
pay our passage from an entire stranger. ’^ 

And who may this stranger be who was so kind as 
to befriend you in your destitution?'^ demanded Mrs. 
Langley, bending a searching gaze upon her. 

Dr. Mortimer, of San Francisco — a most noble, 
kind-hearted gentleman.” 

^Hndeed! and has this ^ noble, kind-hearted gentle- 
man^ a family of his own?” Helen Langley asked mock- 
ingly. 

Cecile flushed crimson. 

^‘1 do not know,” she answered, coldly; ‘^1 have not 
even asked him; I have been too miserable from my own 
trouble to inquire into the affairs of others. But that 
'9 •'leither here nor there. I need money to cancel my 
ebtedness to him, and for other necessities. Surely 
i will loan it to me until I can see HowardY lawyer?” 
‘'No, I will not loan you a dollar!” Mrs. Langley 
. swered, excitedly. 

“Helen! it cannot be possible that you will see your 
)ther’e wife in such a strait as this and refuse her all 


/ 


70 A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

assistance?'’^ Cecile returned, in astonishment at her 
heartlessness, and growing pale at the thought of her 
extremity. 

Listen to me, Mrs. Langley said, bending nearer 
and speaking in a low, fierce tone. I will not help 
you in the least; I will do nothing for you; if you were 
starving I would not give you a crust. You defied me 
once; I never have forgiven it; I never will forgive it; 
and now you shall pay the penalty.'’^ 

Cecile gazed at her, blank amazement depicted on her 
lovely countenance. 

‘^^But I have nowhere to go; surely you will not refuse 
me and my child a shelter for a few days?^^ she said, humb- 
ling her pride for the sake of Daisy. 

N^ot even a shelter,^^ was the cold response. 

Then I shall appeal to Colonel Langley, Cecile, said, 
decidedly, for she felt that she was utterly helpless with- 
out some assistance. 

A low, mocking laugh rang through the room at her 
words. 

Surely you cannot be very well acquainted with my 
husband,'*'’ Helen said. Colonel Langley always has 
done, and always will do, exactly as I wish. But,^^ she 
added, changing her manner and casting a wistful look 
at the lovely babe who was crowing merrily in Martha^s 
arms, I will tell you what I will do, Cecile. I will 
take your child; I will do anything for her; adopt her 
as my own, and give her every luxury until Howard re- 
turns; and, with that burden off your mind, you can 
easily find something to do to take care of yourself.’^ 

That burden off her mind! 

Cecile turned upon her, all her spirit blazing forth at 
the cruel, heartless words — lighting her eyes, flushing 
her cheeks, curling her red lips with scorn and contempt, 
until she was perfectly dazzling in her proud beauty, her 
insulted motherhood. 

For a moment she did not speak; her looks alone ex- 
pressed the feelings that were surging within her. 

Then with swift, graceful steps she crossed the room 
to Martha^s side, took Daisy in her arms, and straining 


A TBUB ABISTOCBAT. 


71 


her to her bosom, with a passionate gesture she turned 
again to Mrs. Langley. 

‘‘Give you my child! Are you utterly heartless she 
cried. “Let you adopt her! Give my bird into the 
claws of a vulture! Hard, cruel as you are, I do not 
wonder that God has made you childless — you are not 
worthy to be a mother — you are not worthy the bless- 
edness of hearing the patter of little feet in your house — 
the music of fresh young voices around your hearth, or 
the training of pure little spirits for eternity. It was 
worse than folly for me to come to you; I might have 
known that you would turn a deaf ear to my entreaties; I 
might have spared myself the humiliation of asking aid 
from you.^^ 

“Yes, you might have known; you might have spared 
yourseltV^ scoffed the proud woman; yet even as she 
spoke she could not help gazing with appreciation at the 
striking tableau which the beautiful young mother, with 
her lovely babe clasped in her arms, made, as she stood, 
confronting her sworn enemy, her face all aglow with in- 
dignation, scorn, and something of pity, while she poured 
forth those hot, scathing words of denunciation. 

“Enough,^^ she said, “I shall never bend to sue for a 
favor at your hands again. I will thank you to give me 
the address of my husband^’s lawyer, and then I will go.” 

“ I will not do even that,^^ said Helen Langley, with a 
glitter in her midnight eyes that was like that of a ser- 
pent when it is ready to spring upon its prey. “ You 
have returned to America without your husband under 
very suspicious circumstances; you have, by your own 
confession, accepted both money from, and the atten- 
tions of, a stranger; you are entitled to.no part of my 
brother's income or fortune without his consent; I shall 
veto your having anything; I shall use all my influence 
against you.^^ 

Cecile's heart sank like lead in her bosom at these ter- 
rible words— this almost diabolical threat. She had never 
dreamed but that she could apply to Howard’s lawyer 
and obtain all the funds necessary for her maintenance, 
and she had that morning resolved that she would return 


72 


A TRUE ABISTOCRAT. 


at once to Liverpool in search of her husband; she would 
devote her life to finding him, and to solving the mystery 
of his absence. 

But what to do in the strait in which she now found 
herself she did not know; she felt utterly helpless, for 
ruin, beggary, stared her in the face. 

But she would notallow the wicked, triumphant woman 
before her to see how utterly desparing she was; she should 
not thus trample upon her, and then gloat over her desti- 
tution and misery. 

'^Very well,^’ she said, proudly, coldly, ^^of course 
there are others who know who Howard's lawyer is, and 
I shall be obliged to apply elsewhere for the information 
I desire. But, Helen Langley, there will yet come a day 
when you will remember the interview of this morning 
with deepest regret. You imagine, perhaps, that you 
can crush me, but — you cannot do it, and you will live to 
realize that fact in more senses than one; you will find 
that a Vavasour is a match for a Montgomery. Come, 
Martha.'’^ 

Without waiting for any reply, without deigning even 
a backward glance, Cecile walked proudly from that 
gorgeous apartment, followed by her wondering servant. 

Straight down to her carriage she went with the step 
of an outraged queen, baby Daisy still clasped close 
in her arms, as if she feared to let her go, lest she 
should be suddenly spirited away by some evil influ- 
ence. 

But the interview had been a very trying one to her, 
and her face was white and drawn as she sank upon the 
soft cushions of the carriage and allowed Martha to take 
the little one from her. 

“Where to?^^ the driver inquired, politely touching 
his cap, and wondering what made that beautiful face 
so colorless and sad. 

“ Back to the St. Nicholas,'^ she said, in a hard, 
strained tone, and uttered no other word during the long 
drive. 


“Lady, will you give me employment?” 


A TRTTE ABISTOGRAT. 73 

Helen Langley was standing just where Cecile had left 
her. 

Her head was bowed, her face dark with anger 
and pale with fear, while she seemed lost in troubled 
thought. 

She had been terribly moved by Cecile s story, for she 
saw at once how very strange it would be for her brother 
to leave his wife in such a way, without instantly send- 
ing her some word by cable as to the cause of his deten- 
tion, or following her immediately on the next steamer, 
if he were living and well. 

It troubled her greatly, but her cunning brain had 
at once seized upon the circumstance as an arrow 
which she could hurl at Oecile’s heart, and she would 
willingly do anything to be able to sow dissension 
between these two — to part them, if possible, and thus 
gain her point and gratify her thirst for revenge upon 
the girl who had dared to thwart her by marrying her 
brother. 

But as soon as Decile was gone, her affection for 
Howard overcame all other feelings, and she stood 
troubled and anxious, thinking what she could do in the 
matter. 

She started violently as the above words were breathed 
in low, smooth tones, almost in her ear; and turning 
quickly she grew paler than before, as she instantly 
recognized the intruder. 

It was Selma — that same tall, handsome octoroon 
whom she had seen for the first and only time on that 
day of her last interview with Cecile, and the coinci- 
dence, somehow, made her feel very uncomfortable. 

The woman seemed more sad and wan than she Lad 
tlien, and she stood with her eyes fixed upon the bril- 
liant woman before her with a sort of pathetic expres- 
sion. 

^^How came you here? Who admitted you Mrs. 
Langley demanded, haughtily, as she recovered some- 
what from her surprise. 

No one admitted me, lad3\ I saw you through 
the window. The lady who just went out left the 


74 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


door ajar, and as you were good to me once before, 
I made bold to come again, returned the woman, 
humbly. 

I should say you had made bold. Are you in the 
habit of entering houses in this way?^^ Mrs. Langley 
questioned sarcastically. 

Selma^s eyes flashed, an angry glow came to her cheek, 
and she drew her form as proudly erect as if she had 
been her interrogator’s equal. 

^^No,” she said, as she bent a peculiar glance upon 
her companion’s face; but — something that I could not 
resist drew me to you.’^ 

Helen Langley shivered slightly at the strange words 
so strangely emphasized. 

What do you want?” she asked in a subdued tone. 

Employment. I am fully acquainted with all the 
duties of lady’s-maid. I can sew nicely; I can read 
well.” 

Have you been in New York ever since I met you 
before?” Mrs. Langley asked, and yet she could not have 
told why she put the question. 

‘^No, honey. I — have been in Kentucky a part of 
the time.” 

^^In Kentucky!” 

Mrs. Langley caught her breath as she repeated the 
words. 

Yes, honey,” and the woman’s voice was liquid in 
its sweetness, her eyes glowed like beads of jet, and a 
strange smile wreathed her lips. 

The colonel’s proud wife threw up her head haughtily. 

She wondered why she did not turn the creature out 
of doors instantly, but some potent influence restrained 
her. 

Why do you address me so familiarly? Why do you 
come to me for employment?” she demanded. 

“Why did I call you honey?’ Because it came nat- 
ural to me, I suppose. Why did I come to you? I had 
to go to some one, and something drew me to you, I 
told you.” 

Mrs. Langley shrugged her graceful shoulders as if to 
rid herself of some unpleasant sensation. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


75 


You can read, you say?^' she said, changing the 
subject. 

Yes^m,^^ the woman answered, looking straight into 
the eyes bent upon her, while her whole face hardened. 

was once a slave, but I was very handsome, and — I 
fared better, in some respects, than the most of my race.” 

Helen Langley did not know, until long afterward, 
the meaning of those shivers which ran down her spine 
as this woman spoke to and looked at her so strangely. 

But it was easy to see that she had told the truth, for 
traces of great beauty still remained about her, while 
the language she used was well chosen, and her whole 
appearance far above her class. 

‘^Well, I need no one now — I have a maid,” Helen 
replied, beginning to be nervous and anxious to get rid 
of her visitor. 

If madam cannot hire me herself, will she recom- 
mend me?” 

How can I do that, when I know nothing about 
you? But perhaps I will send you some sewing in a few 
days.” 

have spent my last cent for my breakfast this 
morning,” Selma said, briefly. 

Mrs. Langley thought a moment, then drew out her 
purse, from which she took flve dollars, and gave to her. 

And she had turned her own brother's wife penniless 
from her door, giving unhesitatingly to a stranger, of 
whose worthiness she was entirely ignorant. 

Selma took it with a low thank you,” and turned as 
if to go. 

But as she reached the door she looked back, saying 
with marked emphasis: 

Madam, I live at No. 8 - — - Street,” and then she 
disappeared. 

Helen Langley lifted her hands and pressed them to 
her temples as the door closed. 

What is it that haunts me thus?” she said, with a 
look that was almost wild. Why does my flesh shiver 
and creep, my heart quake, before such a creature as 
that? I cannot understand it, ” 


76 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


CHAPTER IX. 

A GREAT BUEDERT LIFTED. 

HEN Cecile reached the St. Nicholas again, after 



her interview with her husband’s sister, she re- 


tired at once to her bedroom, where she remained alone 
for more than an hour, and no one save herself and God 
ever knew how that interval of time was spent. 

When she reappeared Martha, whose own heart was 
nearly ready to break with sympathy for her mistress, 
involuntarily uttered a low cry at the change in her. 

It was as if she had fought some terrible battle, com- 
ing forth from the ordeal weak, exhausted, and with the 
look of one ten years older. 

But there was an expression of firm resolve about her 
small mouth, and a steadfast purpose in her dark blue 
eyes. 

She was no longer the petted darling of an idolizing 
husband, whose only thought w'as to shield her from 
every care and sorrow, who was always planning some 
pleasant surprise for her — something to make each new 
day brighter than the last. She was a lonely, sorrowful 
woman, with the burden of a great grief crushing her al- 
most to the earth, and with the stern fact staring her in 
the face that upon her depended the support of herself 
and her child — upon her, who had never performed an 
hour’s real labor in her life I 

I am going out again for a little while Martha,” she 
said, quietly, and if Dr. Mortimer should call you will 
say to him that I should like to see him this evening, if 
he will be at liberty.” 

Yes’m,” the girl answered, the tears starting to her 
honest eyes at the hopeless tone in which her mistress 


A TRUE ABI8T0GBAT. 


77 


Cecile stooped to kiss her babe, who lay sleeping on 
the sofa, and then went out. 

In her hands she carried a box and a package. 

She went directly to a large establishment, where all 
kinds of fancy goods for ladies were kept for sale, and 
where she used to trade occasionally in her. palmier days. 

She asked to see the proprietor, and was shown into a 
private room, where an elderly, pleasant-faced gentleman 
sat reading a newspaper. 

He arose and bowed politely as she entered, recognizing 
at once the fact that he stood in the presence of a lady. 

Cecile gave him her card. 

have come upon a strange errand perhaps,'’^ she 
said, entering at once upon the object of her visit, ^^and 
if you cannot help me yourself, you may at least be able 
to direct me to some one whom you think will do so.” 

Pray be seated, madam,” the gentleman said courte- 
ously, and instantly attracted by that beautiful, high-bred 
face with its mournful eyes and quivering lips. 

He saw at once that she was in some deep trouble, and 
he possessed one of those rich, generous natures that are 
always ready to reach out a helping hand to the needy. 

He wheeled a chair forward for her as he spoke. 

Thank you,” Cecile said, and sank wearily into it. 

The excitement of the morning had nearly exhausted 
her strength. 

I have just returned from abroad,” she resumed, after 
a moment, where I have been traveling for more than 
a year with my husband. I — I was so unfortunate as to 
lose him just before sailing, and I find myself suddenly 
reduced to the necessity of doing something for my own 
and my child's support. I have no friends — I have no 
money, but I have some very beautiful foreign treasures 
which my husband purchased for me while we were away. 
I have among other things some very fine laces, which I 
thought I might possibly dispose of to you, as you deal 
in such articles.” 

^^Um ” remarked the gentleman, reflectively, as 

he stroked his long gray beard, '‘what did you say your 
husband ^s name was?” and he began to look about for the 
card which she had given him. 


78 


A TBITB ARISTOOI^AT. 


She saw that he was somewhat distrustful of her, and 
she did not wonder at it, although the fact touched her 
pride, and a beautiful flush came into her pale cheeks 
for a moment. 

Montgomery, she answered, briefly. 

^^Mrs. H. Montgomery/'’ the merchant read, having 
’ found her card. 

He started and looked at her questioningly. 

You cannot mean that you are Mrs. Howard Mont- 
gomery?’^ he exclaimed, astonished. 

Yes, sir,” she answered, and a hard, dry sob which 
she could not repress broke from her lips. 

^^And you were Oecile Vavasour before you were mar- 
ried?” he continued, in a gentle, pitying voice. 

She bowed her head in assent, her eyes growing wild 
with the pain she was suffering and the self-control she 
was striving to exercise. 

Excuse my questions — I know they must pain you,” 
he said in tones of sympathy. I had not heard of 
your bereavement; I knew nothing of the circumstances 
of your marriage, and — your father once did me a favor, 
at a trying time, which I shall never forget. Yes — 
yes,” he went on hastily, as he saw those lovely lips 
quiver. I will do anything I can to help you. Let 
me see your laces, please.” 

Cecile, glad of any change that would keep her from 
breaking utterly down in his presence, as she felt that 
she should do if he went on in that kindly strain much 
longer, unfolded her package and took out two good- 
sized boxes. 

Lifting the covers of these, she displayed treasures in- 
deed — a shawl of finest point lace, such as was not often 
seen even in extravagant l^^ew York: fichus, collars, 
flounces, handkerchiefs, and yards of the most delicate 
edgings, of various patterns and widths.* 

It was a collection such as only an unlimited purse 
could buy and the most perfect taste select. 

'^Mrs. Montgomery, I do not believe that there is an- 
other woman in New York of your age who can boast of 
laces like these,” Mr. Simons said, in astonishment, and 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 79 

gazing with intense appreciation upon the beautiful 
things before him. 

Cecile sighed. 

There certainly was not a woman in New York at that 
moment who would glory less in the possession of them. 

Howard would purchase them for her; she had not 
cared for so many nor such costly articles; but nothing 
was too beautiful or expensive for his darling, and he 
had poured out his money like water for her. 

‘‘Do you know the cost of all these?''Hhe merchant 
inquired, after another half-hour spent in examining 
them. 

“ The price is marked on each piece in francs; you 
can easily estimate it,*^ Cecile answered. 

The gentleman took down the figures and added them. 

“Mrs. Montgomery, I find them worth a trifle under 
fifteen hundred dollars, ^Mie said, “and the prices com- 
pare very favorably with those which we have been pay- 
ing at wholesale, and we import all our own laces, you 
know.” 

“I know that they cost a great deal,” Cecile replied, 
with another sigh, and thinking how much good fifteen 
hundred dollars would do her just now; but she did not 
dream of realizing anything like what the laces were 
worth. 

Mr. Simons noted the sigh and surmised its cause, and 
his generous heart was filled with sympathy for her. 

“I will tell you what I will do,” he said, after think- 
ing awhile. “ My daughter is about to be married, and 
doubtless expects something handsome in a paternal way. 
She shall not be disappointed. The shawl, flounces, hand- 
kerchiefs, and this piece of edging I will take for her, pa}^- 
ing you outright for them. The remainder, with your per- 
mission, I will put into my salesroom and allow you what- 
ever they may bring.” 

“ Oh! sir, yon are too kind; I did not expect — I shall 
be more than satisfied with just what they cost,” Cecile 
faltered, nearly losing her self-control again at this un- 
expected kindness. 

Mr. Simons smiled with a kindly gleam in his eyes. 


80 


A TJiCrj^ AmsrOOBAT. 


am afraid that if we all did business in that way 
we should not make much progress financially/'’ he said. 

He then arose and went to his desk and counted out a 
roll of bills, which he brought and handed to her. 

There are eight hundred and twenty-five dollars — the 
price of my daughter’s wedding finery; and now I will give 
you a memorandum of what remains, and you shall have 
what they bring as fast as they .are sold.” 

He sat down, turning his back to her, so that she need 
not think he noticed the great tears that were rolling 
down her cheeks. 

She had not been able to weep before — her grief had 
beentoo deep for tears; but now, thankfulness to wai’d this 
noble-hearted man had touched the hidden springs, and 
she could not keep the diamond-drops back. 

Never before had she known anything like the feeling 
she was now experiencing; never before had she known 
what it was to want for a dollar — ay! hundreds, if she 
had wished them — nor had she realized the value of money 
until this moment. 

She clasped it tightly in her hands — that precious roll 
of *bills; she was no longer penniless; she could liquidate 
her obligations to Dr. Mortimer; her baby would not 
suffer, for now she could provide for it a home, care, and 
all the comforts to which she had been accustomed — at 
least for the present. 

^^Is there anything else that you would like to dispose 
of?” Mr. Simons asked, as he handed her the list he had 
made out, and glancing at the other package which she 
had brought. 

“Yes,” she returned, “but jewelry is hardly in your 
line of business; however, I will show you what I have, 
and perhaps you can advise me howuto dispose of it to the 
best advantage.” 

She untied the other parcel and displayed several sets of 
elegant jewelry, carved corals, and cameos from Naples; 
Roman and Florentine mosaics, and a set of queer dead- 
gold ornaments which looked as if they belonged to ihe 
ages gone by. 

Mr, Simons seemed much pleased with them; he was 


A ABisToaiiAT. 


81 


evidently a lover of these small feminine fancies, and he 
asked many questions regarding them. 

He took two sets, for his wife and daughter, and kindly 
offered to dispose of the others for her. 

Cecile gave the merchant her hand as she arose to go, 
and he marveled at her great beauty and queenly appear- 
ance, even though he saw that she was suffering under a 
burden of sorrow almost too heavy to be borne. 

^‘Mr. Simons,’^ she said, am very grateful to you 
for your kindness to me to-day. When I came to you 
hope and courage were well-nigh dead within me, but your 
generosity and sympathy have made me brave to face the 
battle of life once more.'’^ 

The merchant’s eyes grew moist at her words, and he 
detained the hand she had given him. 

‘‘My child,” he said, almost tenderly, “my daughter, 
I judge, is about your own age, and your sad face touches 
my heart in a tender spot, and I have been impelled to 
do for you as I should wish another to do by her in a 
like position. But will you not confide in me a little 
more fully? Your father and I were friends — let me be 
your friend also. I do not understand the necessity 
which has brought you here to-day. 1 thought Mr. 
Montgomery was very wealthy; I knoio that he has a 
sister — Mrs. Colonel Langley, who is — and it seems to 
me cruel, uncalled for, that you should be obliged to 
part with these beautiful things which your husband 
gave to you. If you are in any difficulty which I can 
help you out of, be sure I shall be very glad to do so.” 

Cecilc could not resist this kind appeal — the compas- 
sionate gleam in the old gentleman’s eyes, and the ten- 
der, winning cadence of his voice; and resuming her 
seat, she told him all her trouble, passing as lightly as 
she could, and be truthful, over Mrs. Langley’s treat- 
ment of her that morning. 

Mr. Simons listened in amazement. 

He could not believe that Howard was dead, but his 
absence was certainly most unaccountable, and he had 
no solution to offer to the mystery. 

“ I shall send an agent abroad the first of next month,” 


82 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


he said hopefully, ^^and he shall look into the matter; I 
will do all that I can for you, my child. But about this* 
matter of your support — that we can easily arrange, I am 
sure. There will be no trouble about your identity, and 
you are-, of course, entitled to a generous income from 
your husband^s property — any lawyer would grant you 
that. I will institute inquiries about Mr. Montgomery's 
man of business, see him myself for you, and you shall 
have your just due. I am astonished, to say the very 
least, at the position Mrs. Langley has assumed toward 
you." 

Mrs. Langley is very proud, and she objected to my 
marriage with her brother," Cecile returned with height- 
ened color. 

^‘On what ground, if I may presume to ask? Some 
of the best blood in the country flows in the Vavasour 
veins," said Mr. Simons, with considerable spirit. 

She was opposed to me on account of my lack of 
fortune." 

Urn; there are some attributes more essential than 
gold, some of which I am inclined to think that Mrs. 
Langley herself may lack," the merchant remarked, with 
an appreciative glance into Cecile's beautiful, intelligent 
face. 

^^But never mind that now," he added; ^^come to me 
again in a few days, Mrs. Montgomery, and perhaps I 
may have some cheering news for you." 

Cecile was greatly comforted. Mr. Simons seemed 
like a tower of strength to her; he had been a friend of 
her father's, and that fact made him seem less of a 
stranger to her. 

She wondered what favor her father could have 
rendered him that made him so ready and eager to 
help her; but she could not ask, and she went away, a 
great burden lifted from her heart, more hopeful 
than she had thought it possible ever to feel again 
Avhen she had come there — a thousand dollars in her 
purse, and the promise of as much more at no distant 
day. 


A TRUE ARISTOCBAT, 


83 


CHAPTER X. 

S A,D P A R T I N" G . 

W HEN Cecile arrived at the St. Nicholas upon re- 
turning from her interview with Mr. Simons, 
she found Dr. Mortimer in her parl'or waiting for her. 

‘‘I am obliged, unexpectedly, to return to California 
to-morrow morning, he said, glancing at a telegram 
which he held in his hand, ^^and as I had previously 
made an engagement for this evening, I waited for you, 
as Martha told me you wished to see me.^^ 

Cecile’s face expressed regret at the intelligence 
of his near departure. He had been such a comfort to 
her; his was such a strong, true nature to lean upon in 
a time of trouble, that it made her very sad to' have 
him go. 

The color had flashed into her white face while he 
was speaking, and she had a half-guilty feeling lest he 
should suspect the nature of the errand which had taken 
her out a second time that day. 

But of course he did not, and sat talking for some 
time to her in a cheerful, soothing way, which made her 
realize all the more how much she should miss him when 
he was gone. 

trust you found your friends well this morning,” 
he said, casually, during their conversation. 

Quite well,” she answered, briefly. 

I shall go home feeling quite relieved regarding 
you,” he went on, since I know that you liave relatives 
here to care for you, and I doubt not they will arrange 
everything for your comfort.” 

Thank you,” Cecile, returned, in the same tone as 
before, though she wondered in her heart what he would 
say if he could know how she had been already received 


84 


A THUJU ABrSTOCBAT, 


by those friends'^ to which he referred; then she 
added: We also shall leave here to-morrow morning;” 

and Martha in the adjoining room, hearing this, won- 
dered where they were to go, and how the future would 
be provided for. 

‘‘Do you remain in the city?” Dr. Mortimer ashed. 

“ For the present, yes,” she said; then looking up 
at him, and speaking with a quiver in her voice, 
she went on: “1 am very sorry to have you go — I 
sliall be sorry to say good-by to you; but I trust you 
may have a pleasant trip over the plains; and — Dr. 
Mortimer, I can never tell you how grateful I am to 
you for your exceeding kindness to me in my trouble.” 

She faltered and could not go on. 

“Do not mention it, Mrs. Montgomery,” he said, 
quickly; “ it has been a pleasure to me — though a 
sad one, of course — to do what I could for you; and 
I trust that when we meet again — if ever we shall — 
I shall find you far happier than I leave you. Do 
not let your heart fail you,” he continued, in grave, 
sweet tones; “ be of good courage, for there is One 
who ‘doeth all things well.^ We cannot alwa 3 'S know 
or see why God allows such heavy trials as yours to 
to come into our lives sometimes, to blight them; but 
we shall know by and by, and in the knowing lose all 
pain.” 

“You always have something comforting to say to 
me,” she answered, tears springing to her eyes; but reso- 
lutely preventing their falling, she drew from her pocket 
the roll of bills which Mr. Simons had paid her, saying: 
“Now if you will please tell me the amount of my in- 
debtedness to you I will cancel it.” 

Dr. Mortimer flushed. 

He could not bear that she should be annoyed with busi- 
ness affairs when her heart was so sore from her trouble, 
and somehow it was obnoxious to him to take money 
from her. 

“Is it quite convenient?”' he asked, as he named the 
sum he had paid out for her. 

“It is perfectly convenient,” she replied, with a slight 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


85 


uplifting of her golden-crowned head, and she laid the 
bills in his hand as she spoke/'’ 

llis quick eye told him that she held no small amount 
even after paying him, and he thought, with a sense of 
relief, that her friends, whom she had visited that morn- 
ing, must have supplied her with all the funds that she 
needed, and that all trouble, financially, would be 
smoothed from her path in the future. 

tie little realized how forlorn the future appeared to 
this young and delicately nurtured woman, and that 
w hen this money, which she had realized from the sacri- 
fice of her treasures, was gone, she did not know where 
she could look for more. 

But she was much too proud to allow him to suspect 
anything of the kind. She could not accept charity even 
from one who was so kindly disposed toward her as Dr. 
Mortimer had shown himself to be. 

He sat talking with her some time longer, and when 
at length he arose to go, he took her hand in both his 
own. 

Mrs. Montgomery,'’'’ he said, sadly, while a wistful 
look came into his eyes, ‘M. regret more than I can tell 
you to bid you farew’^ell. I have almost grown to feel, 
during the last fortnight, as if you in some measure be- 
long to me. I suppose such a feeling would naturally 
spring from the care and interest I have had for you; 
and I shall look back upon our short but sad acquaint- 
ance with a geat deal of gratification. Let me beg that 
if you ever stand in need of a friend agaii’, you will not 
hesitate to call upon me. I shall be only too happy to 
respond to such a call at any time, and under any cir- 
cumstances/^ 

Thank you,” Cecile returned, striving in vain to 
control the quivering of her lips and her faltering tones. 

I shall never forget you, nor what you have done, and 
I will not forget your kind offer for the future.'’'’ 

I shall feel anxious to know of your happiness and 
prosperity. Will you let me hear from you if — will you 
write and tell me if your husband returns, so that I may 
rejoice with you?” he asked, gently. 


86 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


Yes, if Howard comes back to me I will write you 
at once; but, and her tone rang with despair, '^Dr. 
Mortimer, he will not. I believe that he is dead; that 
some terrible accident befell him — something perhaps 
that I shall never know about — or he never would have 
failed to reach the vessel in time/^' 

Her face was so white and hopeless, her eyes so like 
those of some fawn mortally wounded, that his heart 
ached for her. 

^^I)o not be so despairing, he said, soothingly, while 
his own grew moist from sympathy. cannot agree 
with you. I believe that Mr. Montgomery must return, 
and that you will be very happy once more. But 1 must 
leave you now; and let me charge you again — do not for- 
get, my dear friend, that I will come to you, do any- 
thing for you, at your lightest bidding. 

^‘You jare very kind; I will not forget,^^ she said, 
while her eyes met his thankfully, trustfully, but with 
such a look of despair in their azure depths that it 
haunted him for months afterward. 

^^May I see Daisy for a moment?^^ he asked as he re- 
leased her hand, but he spoke with difficulty. 

He had not realized until that moment how sad this 
parting was going to be. 

Oecile went into the next room and brought the little 
one to him. 

He clasped her close in his strong arms. 

cannot tell you how deeply attached I have become 
to this small darling,’^ he said, with unsteady lips; and 
then to conceal his emotion, he bowed his manly head 
.-over the sunny-haired, laughing child, and kissed her 
repeatedly ! 

After a moment or two he gave her back, saying once 
more: 

For the sake of this child, remember that I am always 
your friend.^'’ 

I will remember,^’ Cecile answered, while something 
like a sob choked her utterance, and then after one more 
hand-clasp he went away, while the stricken young 
mother, feeling as if her last and only support was taken 


A TJUTB AmSTOaHAT. 87 

from her, clasped her baby to her bosom convulsively, 
and moaned: 

We must fight the battle out alone, my darling, you 
and I, and God only knows what the result may be/'’ 

The next morning Cecile went out again and was gone 
many hours. 

This time she was searching for a home for herself 
and small family. 

She found at last just what she wanted — a few fur- 
nished rooms in a quiet but respectable street, and these 
she engaged at once, paying a month^s rent in advance. 

Then she returned, settled her bill at the hotel, and 
repaired to her new home with a feeling of independence 
and content which surprised herself. 

It was very humble and mean compared to what she 
had always been accustomed, but it was her own; no 
weight of obligation rested upon her, and while her 
money lasted she need depend upon no one. 

Meanwhile she intended to take measures to obtain 
an income from her husband^’s property, and if success- 
ful her purpose was to return immediately to Liverpool, 
to learn, if possible, Howard^’s fate. 

Martha, do you understand housework?’'’ she asked, 
when they were somewhat settled in their new domicile. 

Yes^m; I can cook, and wash, and iron, and,'’" with 
a f#nd look at Daisy, you already know how well I can 
tend a baby. 

I know that you have been just as kind as kind can 
be to us both ever since our trouble,"" Cecile responded 
with emotion, adding: 

I am going to tell you exactly how I am situated, 
and then you can remain with me, or I will help you 
to get a place where you can command higher wages 
than I shall at present be able to' give you. You 
were present during my interview with my hus- 
band"s sister ; you know how she scorned me, and re- 
fused me aid of any kind — even the name of my hus- 
band"s lawyer. I have raised some money on some 
costly articles which I brought from abroad, and we 
shall do very well for awhile. If I can arrange for an 


88 


A TRVE ARISTOCRAT. 


income from Mr. Montgomery^’s property there need be 
no fear for the future ; but if I should fail to do so I 
shall then be driven to the necessity of going to work to 
support myself.'’^ 

Martha opened her eyes wide at this. 

Madam! what could you do?^^ she asked in surprise, 
as she glanced at her delicate hands, her young beauti- 
ful face, and her slender form. 

I do not know; I have never done any work in my 
life, hut there are thousands of girls in this city not as 
old as I who labor for their living, and I can at least try, 
if I am obliged to,^' Cecile answered, with brave earn- 
estness. 

Of course, she continued, after a moment or two 
of thought, “ I could not take care of Daisy and w’ork 
too, so I wish to propose to you to remain with me, 
care for her, and keep house for me — for whatever 
wages you may think just — while I earn the money to 
support us.” 

Oh, madam, I will do anything for you, you have 
been so kind and gentle to me! 1 would rather stay 
with you for whatever you can afford to give me — were 
it ever so little — than to go among strangers for a large 
sum,” the honest girl returned, tearfully. 

know your sympathies are with me,” Cecile said, 
sadly, and deeply touched by her words, ‘^but you have 
come to this country to earn your own living, and I 
must not allow you to sacrifice your own interests for 
me. 1 hope, however, I shall be able to do for you as 
well as any one could; a little while will decide the 
matter; meanwhile I have hired these simply-furnished 
rooms, thinking it best to be careful until I am sure of 
the future. I know nothing about housework, and I 
shall be obliged to depend entirely upon you, and while 
I am waiting for the result of my plans regarding Mr. 
Montgomery’s lawyer, you shall teach me what you 
know, so that I need not be so useless if misfortune 
continues to follow me.” 

Cecile spoke very gravely and thoughtfully. 

She wondered how she could have lived so long with- 


A TBUB AmSTOCHAT. 


89 


out understanding something of the realities of life — 
without comprehending, from the condition of those 
around her, that this world is not a bed of roses, upon 
which one may lie forever at ease, without coming in 
in contact with their thorns. 

If Daisy lives to grow to womanhood,'’^ she thought, 
I will teach her to work; slie shall have some duties 
every day to fulfill; she shall learn the value of money, 
and that some one, if not she herself, has to earn every 
dollar that is expended for her comfort and pleasure. 
It is a mistaken kindness to allow any one to drift along 
as I have drifted, with no sense of personal responsibil- 
ity save one^s own enjoyment/^ 


90 


A TBUE ABISTOCBAT, 


CHAPTER Xi. 

WHERE ARE YOU?" 

A WEEK later Cecile returned to Mr. Simons to as- 
cei’tain if he had any news for her. 

He told her, with a very grave face, that he had dis- 
covered w'ho Howard^s lawyer was only three days pre- 
vious, and that at that time he lay at the point of death. 
He had died since then — was, in fact, to be buried that 
very day, and, of course, it would be impossible to do 
anything about an income for her just yet. 

He thought, however, thef’e would be no difficulty 
about it, and he would attend to the matter just as soon 
as propriety and a proper respect for the dead would 
allow. 

But when next she saw him he was not so hopeful. 
Colonel Langley, he said, had assumed the manage- 
ment of all his brother-in-law’s affairs, and would look 
after his interests until his return, or he received some 
communication regarding his wishes. 

He refused — probably at the instigation of his wife — 
to listen to Cecile’s claim, saying that under the pecu- 
liar circumstances of her return he did not feel at lib- 
erty to pay over any money to her without first consult- 
ing Mr. Montgomery. 

Mr. Simons had used all his eloquence in Cecile’s 
favor, hut without avail; he had then threatened the 
obdurate man with the law, but he had said she could 
have no right to any portion of her husband’s fortune 
unless she could prove his death, and herself a widow; 
and thus that hope was cut off, and with it all thought 
of returning to Liverjpool to try to learn Howard’s fate. 

Eor another week she was nearly ill from anxiety. 
Something must be done to meet this emergency; her 


A AJiIST0CjRA2: 


01 


present funds would not last always, and she must arouse 
herself and bend all her energies to provide for the 
future. 

But w/ia^ to do? was the question. 

Night after night she lay awake trying to think of 
something at once profitable and practicable. 

‘‘There is not a single useful thing that I know how 
to do/"* she had told Mr. Simons, when consulting with 
him about the matter. “ I cannot teach, for although I 
have had every advantage in the way of an education, I 
was merely a receptacle for knowledge — I was not trained 
to communicate what I received; besides, I know I am 
not strong enough physically. It would be the same 
with music; I should starve if I tried to earn my living 
by sewing, and I'm sure I do not see that I am fitted for 
anything.'"'' 

“ It is a hard case, my child, ” Mr. Simons said, sym- 
pathizingly; “and that sister of your husband's is a 
monster in human form. But we'll see what can be 
done for you, if — you have no false pride about working 
for your bread." 

He looked at her keenly as he said this. 

She lifted her head with conscious dignity. 

“No, sir; I am willing to work — I shall he/>ro2fd to 
be able to support myself and my child; and I will 
gladly avail myself of anything which you may recom- 
mend me to do," she answered with animation. 

“That is spoken like a noble woman," Mr. Simons 
returned, rubbing his hands together with a satisfied air, 
and giving her a glance of admiration. 

In spite of her sadness Cecile was very, very beautiful. 
Her fair face was daily assuming more character; there 
was a thoughtfulness in her eyes which lent them an 
added charm; her bearing was more dignified and self- 
reliant; while the black garment which she always wore 
now — although she did not assume widows' weeds — she 
could not do that without proof positive of Howard's 
death, even though she feared such must be^the fact — 
were extremely becoming to her j ale loveliness. 

Mr. Simons was deeply interested in her; every day 


92 


A TBlli: AmSTOOBAT. 


he found some new trait to admire in her, and he had 
determined to help her to an independent position — if 
she proved herself ready to help herself — if for nothing 
more than to defeat Mrs. Langley^s malicious spite 
against her. 

‘‘With such a spirit, he went on, “there is no 
question of success, if your health is spared. You shall 
hear from me again in a day or two; but before you go 
1 have some more money for you; your laces are selling 
very well, and another set of your jewelry has been dis- 
posed of.^^ 

He paid her three hundred dollars more, and she went 
away feeling quite hopeful, although as yet nothing deli- 
nite had been determined upon. 

Mr. Simons, however, had a plan in^mind for her, but 
he did not wish to unfold it to her until he had tested 
her powers a little. 

He had noticed from the first how tasteful she was in 
every appointment of her dress; the lace at her throat 
was always gathered into such a graceful knot; the ties 
of her hat were always fastened in such a dainty bow: 
and whenever she took anything into her slender fingers, 
he saw that she instinctively arranged it in some pretty, 
artistic way. 

One morning, a day or two after the above conversa- 
tion, he sought her at her own home. 

“Mrs. Montgomery,^'’ he said, opening a box filled 
with delicate laces, ribbons, and flowers, “ w^e are 
about to go into fancy neck-ties, jabots, breakfast-caps, 
etc., pretty extensively, and I want you to make us 
up some samples. You have taste, or I am greatly 
mistaken; you have had an opportunity of seeing all 
those recent pretty things which they manufacture 
so extensively in Paris, and I believe they can be 
made here just as well as to import them. I w^ant 
you to do your very best for us, and if our plan is a suc- 
cess, I think, perhaps, you will liave found the ‘work'’ 
which 3'qu seek."’ 

He gave her minute directions concerning what he 
wished to have made, and then went away, leaving her 


A TUD-jE: AlilSrOCBAT. 


93 


lighter of heart than she had been any day since landing 
in New York. 

Here was something tangible — something that prom- 
ised employment and remuneration; audit would be such 
pretty, enjoyable work, too. 

Her fingers were, indeed, very cunning, as Mr. 
Simons had surmised, and under their magical ma- 
nipulations, lovely ties, pretty caps and dainty head- 
dresses grew very rapidly,^and when the merchant saw 
them he was more than satisfied with the result of his 
plan.'’^ 

wish you had a dozen pair of hands,^’ he said, 
and we would open a wholesale as well as a retail de- 
partment of these things.'’^ 

Cecile’s face lighted with a sudden inspiration. 

I wish you would,^'’ she answered, eagerly, ‘^^and 
give me the contract to supply you. I would make 
all the samples, and hire young girls to imitate them in 
quantities; it would give me plenty of work, and also 
give me an opportunity to make something out of my 
employees.'’^ 

Mr. Simons regarded her with surprise. 

I had no idea that you had such a head for busi- 
ness,^^ he exclaimed, smiling at her eagerness. I have 
half a mind to let you try it; but if you undertake this 
work you must have some place in which to carry it on, 
and I did nob think you would like to leave your 
home.” 

No, I should not,” Cecile said, gravely, as she thought 
of Daisy; she could not go away and leave her child all 
day; she must have that careful training which only her 
mother could give her. 

After a moment’s thought her face cleared and she 
said: 

There is a large unoccupied room in the house where 
I live; if I could hire that, it would be just the place; h 
is pleasant and airy, and I could easily attend to my busi- 
ness and still be at home.” 

‘‘Well, Mrs. Montgomery, if you can arrange things 
to your satisfaction, you shall have the contract for one 


94 


A TRUE AEISTOCRAT, 


year; hire the vacant room at once if you can, and we 
will furnish it for you with the necessary tables, chairs, 
etc., and I will promise you if your work is as satisfac- 
tory as this"’’ — pointing to the pretty things she had 
made — ^^all the business you want.’’^ 

The kind merchant was glad to see her face light up 
with interest, the color flash into her cheeks, hope into 
her eyes, as the future began to brighten before her. 

She went home and bargained for the vacant room 
with her landlady. Mr. Simons stocked it for her with 
chairs and tables for the workers, and even sent her a 
desk and a pretty clock. 

An advertisement was inserted in one of the daily 
papers for girls to work on fancy ties, etc., and Cecile 
soon had her hands full, choosing her help from the 
crowds that poured in upon her, eager for employ- 
ment. 

She selected those who exhibited the most taste in 
their apparel, and thus in less than two months from the 
day of her landing in New York she had a room full of 
busy workers, and every week she turned out case after 
case of lovely lingerie, which ladies so much admire. 

Every day she gathered new energy; her mind seemed 
eminently fitted for business, althouglT she had never 
dreamed that she could do anything of the kind until 
necessity drove her to it. 

She made all her own patterns; and such dainty, airy 
little things as they were; too; inspected every article as 
it came from the hands of the workwomen, to see that 
it was properly made, packed all into their respective 
boxes, and kept her own accounts. 

It was a very busy life for her, a life so entirely dif- 
ferent from anything that she had ever imagined possible 
for her that she often wondered if she were the same 
person who had been so dependent upon others for hap- 
piness, and indeed for everything in life. 

And yet it was not an unhappy existence; she was 
earning an honest living; she was the means of giving 
work to many others who needed it and would otherwise 
perhaps be destitute, and it did her heart good every day 


A TEUB ARISTOCBAT. 


95 


to look into those young faces, and watch the care fad- 
ing out of them little by little as their earnings increased; 
the wolf was kept back, and they saw that their work 
was appreciated. 

She had a kind word for them always. If she had 
cause to reprove for carelessness or idleness it was done 
so gently that none could take offense, yet so firmly that 
it was not repeated. She paid them a fair price — she, 
the oppressed, would not oppress — and they were eager 
to do their utmost to please her. 

Mr. Simons was jubilant over her success; he was reap- 
ing a rich harvest from the arrangement without any of 
the annoyance of manufacturing, while he was gaining a 
reputation for producing the daintiest nothings^'’ in the 
world. His ties, caps, and so forth, were in great demand 
all over the city, and he was beginning to receive large 
orders from other States. 

Who does all this — who gets up all these delightful 
trifles?’^ asked Helen Langley ore day of him, as she 
selected two charming breakfast-caps, a fichu, and some 
ties, paying a good round sum for the style as well as 
the material. 

A lady who came from Paris a few months ago,^^ the 
merchant replied, chuckling to himself, and wondering 
if the trifles^'’ would appear so delightfuL^ in her 
eyes if she had known who had fashioned them. 

I might have known it.'’^ she said in a satisfied tone. 
“^They have a decided French air; and it is such a com- 
fort not to be obliged to order and wait to have what you 
wish imported.^^ 

A ;^ar went by, and at the end, when Cecile made up 
her amounts, she found a surplus in her favor of six hun- 
dred dollars; all this besides the necessary expenses of her 
business and the cost of her own household. 

‘‘ God has been very good to me,” she said, the thank- 
ful tears starting to her eyes as she sat over her books 
and looked upon these figures; ^^and yet,” she added, 
wearily, “there is nothing that will ever ease the pain 
in my heart until I know my darling’s fate. 

“Will the time ever come?” she cried, lifting ]ier 


96 


A THUS ABISTOCEAT. 


clasped hands in a burst of agony. ^^Must I go on for- 
ever, and never know? But for this suspense I could 
know some rest — some peace. The most horrible cer- 
tainty would be more bearable than this constant sur- 
mising — this alternating of hope and fear.^^ 

She had received from Mr. Simons pay for all her laces 
and jewelry. Everything had been sold, and she had 
invested nearly the whole of it in the bank. She had 
now, or would have, when this six hundred dollars was 
put away, more than two thousand dollars at interest, 
and was in a fair way to add to it constantly. 

'^Yes, God is good!'-’ she repeated, the tears rolling 
over her face like rain. But oh! if it were not for my 
Daisy, life would not be worth the effort it costs to live 
it. Howard! oh, Howard! where are you? What has 
happened to you? Shall I never, never see you 
again ?'^ 

Mr. Simons’ agent had been abroad and returned. He 
had spent a whole week in Liverpool, at his employer’s 
expressed desire, striving to trace Howard Montgomery. 
But he met with no success. The hotel where he had 
stopped, with his family, had been burned, and the firm 
of whom he had purchased the shawls and rugs had 
failed, and their shop was occupied by a fruiterer, and he 
could not get the slightest clew to either the man or his 
fate. 

shall go myself just as soon I can save money 
enough,” Cecile had said to Mr. Simons, when he told 
her of the failure of his agent. Love will direct me 
where no one else would think of going; and I shall 
never know one moment’s peace until I learn what has 
become of my husband.” # 

She was thinking sadly of all this as she sat there at 
her desk, with the results of her year of business before 
her, and wondering just how much money she would 
need to carry her through her proposed pilgrimage. 

She knew that it would be very expensive, for she 
would be obliged to take Martha along with her to look 
after Daisy, while she prosecute her search. 

In the midst of these thoughts the door opened, and 


A TRXIE ARISTOCRAT. 


97 


Martha, with a white, frightened face, appeared upon 
the threshold. 

Cecile looked up through her tears. 

Madam, said the girl, tremblingly, ^^a boy has 
just come from the store to tell us that Mr, Simons is 
deadr 


98 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


CHAPTER XIL 

^^YOU MUST TELL 

D EAD! Her best friend dead! Stricken down in an 
instant, without warning, without a thought but 
that life and health would be spared to him for many 
a year to come. 

Cecile was almost benumbed by the intelligence which 
Martha brought her; but as soon as she could compose 
herself, she went below to interview the boy regarding 
the facts of the case. 

He had been sent, he said, by one of the firm, to tell 
her that Mr. Simons had died a couple of hours ago- 
dropped dead in his counting-room while talking with 
some gentlemen, regarding a business matter. 

Apoplexy, the physician, who iTad been hastily sum- 
moned to give assistance, said, had caused it, and he 
had passed away unconscious of any pain, or any idea 
that eternity was so near. 

What would become of her now, without this kind 
friend to guide and counsel? Cecile asked herself again 
again. 

Everything that he could do he had done to help her 
over the rough road of poverty and dependence, and she 
had learned to look up, to rely upon, and respect him 
almost as she would a father or an elder brother. 

"^He will not lose his reward/^ Cecile murmured 
through fast-falling tears. ‘‘Christ will not forget the 
‘inasmuch;^ and the helping hand which this good man 
has extended has certainly saved one, at least, from hun- 
ger, and thirst, and cold.'’^ 

She suspended all business while he lay dead. She 
went to the church and looked her last upon the kind 
face that would never beam upon her again; upon the 


A TBU-U AmSTOOJiAT. 


00 


mute lips that would never more speak words of enconr 
agement and counsel to her; and no sincerer mourn 
followed him to his last resting-place than that youji 
and beautiful woman in whom he had taken so deep an 
interest. 

Many would have become disheartened at this added 
blow — this removal of their only support. 

Not so with Cecile, however. It only appeared to spur 
her on to greater activity in her own behalf, and to the 
development of greater resources than she had hereto- 
fore seemed to possess. 

She rose superior (o every misfortune, faced every ob- 
stacle with the spirit and courage of a hero, and with 
the determination to conquer in the battle. 

It was as if she could say, with a faith that was almost 
sublime, those words of Milton: 

“ I argue not 

Against Heaven’s band or will, nor bate a jot 
or heart or hope, but still bear up and steer 
Right onward.” 

A week after the burial of Mr. Simons, she sought an 
interview with the other members of the firm, and pro- 
posed to assume the manufacture of the fancy goods 
which she had hitherto taken upon contract, receiving a 
certain sum per dozen just for making them up. 

She now wished them to supply her with the neces- 
sary materials at importers^ prices, thus allowing her a 
profit on the articles themselves, as well as upon the 
labor employed in their construction, while she wouh 
supply them as heretofore. 

At first they demurred; but Cecile informed then, 
that if she could not make this arrangement with them 
she should do so with some other parties. She knew 
that she was competent to manage such a business. She 
had her own interests to consider, and must make the 
most of her time and energies while they were spared to 
her. 

Such a proceeding as this, the firm knew, would be of 
great injury to them. Her skill and work had acquiied 
such a reputation that the demand for their goods was 


100 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


rapidly increasing, and they could better afford to have 
her make the extra profit than they could to lose her 
altogether. 

So they consented to the arrangement, and Cecile 
became a manufacturer and regular woman of business. 

And all this time she was developing into greater 
beauty. Her active life, together with the employment 
which kept her from morbidly dwelling upon her trouble, 
secured health and strength to her, lent animation to 
her face, a keen, bright look to her eyes, dignity and 
self-possession to her manner. 

She was like some fair, stately lily, and withal a 
gracious gentlewoman — a woman to respect and admire, 
to love and reverence. 

Daisy was now a lovely child of a year and a half, 
and went prattling about the house, making music all 
the day, and thinking no one quite equal to her ‘^pretty 
mamma,^'’ and "‘dear, dood Marfa,” while she won the 
hearts of all who saw her. 

One bright, warm day in the last of October Cecile 
declared that they all needed a holiday, and, packing a 
hamper with good tilings for their lunch, she took 
Martha and Daisy, and went to spend the day in Central 
Park. 

She was very lovely in her thin, soft, black robes, and 
in her dainty white hat with its black velvet bows; and 
many an eye turned lingeringly after the trio, wonder- 
ing who that beautiful young mother and exquisite child 
could be. 

Daisy was nearly wild with joy at the sight of the 
grassy lawns, the green trees, and beautiful fiower-plots; 
and Cecile w'as almost happy again as she looked into 
her little one^s sparkling eyes, at her rosy cheeks, and 
heard her glad laughter ring out so merrily on the balmy 
air. 

Martha, too, seemed filled with delight at this little 
change in their life, and was as proud of her lovely 
charge as if she had been the daughter of some queen. 

The morning sped on golden wings, while they wan- 
dered hither and thither, thinking each avenue and 


A THITB AMSTOOJiAr. 


101 


walk more beautiful than the last; indeed. Central Park 
had never seemed so delightful to Cecile as to-day — at 
least, she had never appreciated it as now. It was caused, 
probably, by her long absence and the monotonous life 
which she had been leading of late. 

After lunch, she told Martha that she might hire oue 
of the goat-teams for Daisy, and let her ride about for a 
couple of hours, while she would sit in the shtide of 
some trees and read the new book which she had brought 
with her. 

Martha went away almost as pleased as Daisy to tes^ 
the powers of a pair of pretty white goats, and their 
gayly-painted wagon. 

The day was unusu^Tty warm and bright for the sea- 
son, and Cecile, lying back in her rustic chair, with no 
care and nothing to do, appreciated this pleasant idle- 
ness to the full. 

The pure, clear air w^as almost like wine to her, mak- 
ing her cheeks glow, her eyes to sparkle*; the bright sun- 
light, shining through the thick foliage, made fantastic 
shadows all about her, while the birds caroled sweetest 
music in the boughs over her head. 

It is a beautiful, beautiful world after all,'*'’ she 
‘murmured; but even as she said it her red lips trembled, 
and a shade of pain chased the sparkle from her eyes. 

She had thought to read far into her book to-day, but 
it lay neglected upon her lap, while her mind went back 
two years, to the time when she and her husband had 
wandered together through enchanted lands — when 
chere was not a care for her — when every wish was an- 
ticipated, and the weeks and months were like a 2)oem 
and a vision of delight. 

^^Oh! if I could only be certain cf his fate, whatever 
it may have been, I could bear it better, she moaned, as 
her thoughts grew more painful and bitter. 

This was ever her cry when she yielded to such sad 
m usings, and she rebelled with all her soul against the 
mystery of Howard’s fate. 

“ What a charmed life would nave been ours,” she 
went on. “We were so united in heart and thought; 


102 


A AmSTOOBAT. 


how he would have loved Daisy, and what pride and joy 
he would have experienced in watching her grow and 
develop. I feel that God knows best,” she said, lifting 
her tear-laden eyes to the blue sky above; but it is 
very hard to bear for all that. I suppose I needed this 
discipline — indeed, I know thac I am a stronger woman 
for it, better fitted to battle against the realities of life, 
better fitted to rear and educate my child, and I do 
strive to endure it patiently. But, oh! I did love my 
husband with a devotion that was tender and true; ours 
seemed destined to be a perfect life, and, to have my 
cup of happiness dashed from my lips when it was filled 
to the brim was a bitter, bitter blow. But I will try 
to be thankful that my Daisy is spared to me; if s/ie 
should be taken from me — oh, God! I could not bear 
that, too.” 

She broke otf with a bitter cry at this thought. 

For full two hours she had sat thus, never reading a 
word, while the past fiooded her mind with its bitter 
memories. 

Why it should have come upon her with such force 
on this bright, beautiful day, the first that she had de- 
voted to rest and recreation since her return, was some- 
thing she could not understand. 

A shiver ran through her as the idea of losing her 
child shot into her mind; and as if fearful even then 
that something had happened to her, she started up to 
go in search of her.” 

Meanwhile, Martha had engaged the goat-team, and 
Daisy was liaving a most delightful time. She was 
satisfied to ride slowly, so that Martha could wjilk be- 
side her, and she was perfectly happy to be allowed to 
hold the reins in her plump little hands like a weal 
dwiver,” while she watched her pretty white steeds trot 
ahead of her. s. 

She made a lovely picture sitting in the gayly-painted 
wagon. 

Her hair, a beautiful golden, a trifle darker than her 
mothers, was very long for one of her age, and floated 
over her shoulders in the breeze like ‘‘woven sunshine.” 


A TBUi; AmSTOCHAT, 


103 


Her eyes, of a deep, dark blue, were very large and in- 
telligent, while her face was remarkable for its delicacy 
and refinement. 

She wore to-day a little dress of blue silk, daintily 
trimmed with white lace, a white sun-hat with blue 
ribbons, tiny kid boots of tlie same hue, fastened at the 
tops with bows of smooth shining satin. 

Cecile took great comfort in allowing her exquisite 
taste to have full play in dressing her darling, and tliis 
she could easily do, with very little expense, out of the 
cast-olf finery that had been hers during the days of her 
happy maidenhood, and which some spirit of economy 
had prompted her to store away in a trunk with other 
things before she -went away. 

AVbile Martlia and her charge were roving about at 
their own sweet will, they encountered in one of the 
shaded drive-ways an elegant carriage drawn by a pair 
of magnificent horses. 

Two. richly-dressed ladies were seated within, and ap- 
peared to be enjoying the day and place the utmost, as 
they rode slowly alon^. 

What a lovely child! ” one of the ladies exclaimed, 
as they came in sight of Daisy. 

‘‘You say truly; and how happy the little darling 
looks, replied her companion, with a long-drawn sigh. 
“ Stop a moment, John,'’^ she added to the driver, “and 
let us speak to her.” 

The well-trained horses came to an immediate halt, 
and the lady bent forward with a wistful look in her 
large, dark eyes. 

“ Little one,” she said with a smile, “you are having 
a fine time, arenT you?” 

“ Me is a weal dwiver now,” Daisy answered, looking 
up with an air of dignity, and drawing the lines more 
tightly over her small steeds. 

The lady laughed musically. 

“And do you like to be a real driver?” she asked. 

“ Me likes to be any-jing we-aly^ she returned, with 
emphasis. 

“TheiVs a lesson in a nutshell for you on meta- 


104 


A TEVB ABISTOCBAT. 


physics/^ exclaimed the other occupant of the carriage, 
her face gleaming with amusement. 

^MVell/'’ exclaimed the first speaker, heartily, ^^you 
are a real beauty anyway, and I love beautiful children.” 

Daisy looked up at her with wide, earnest eyes. 

Mamma loves weal dood dirls better,” she said, as if 
that authority was sufficient co decide all questions knotty 
or otherwise. 

Who’s your mamma, j)retty one? — what is your 
name ?” 

^^My name,” answered the child, reflectively, while 
she shook the reins to frighten away the flies that were 
annoying the goats,” my name is — Daisy.” 

Daisy? You look like one, you blue-eyed darling: 
but — Daisy who?” 

The stranger was deeply interested in the child, and 
her eyes lingered on her with an almost covetous expres- 
sion in them. 

Daisy Mont-gomery.” 

The last was a long name, and she always hesitated 
when pronouncing it. 

The woman in the carriage started as if something 
had stung her, and glanced quickly from the child to 
Martha, whom she had not deigned to notice before. 

The girl, on the contrary, had already recognized her 
as Mrs. Colonel Langley, the woman who had so insulted 
and abused her kind mistress, and she would have been 
glad to have passed on without allowing her to speak to 
Daisy, if she could have done so without being rude. 

Mrs. Langley nowpereeived that Martha was the same 
girl who had come with Cecile to her housa^more than a 
year ago, and the color flamed vividly into her cheeks as 
she recalled that interview. 

Where do you live?” she demanded, sharply. 

In West th Street,” she replied, respectfully, and 

she could have bitten her tongue out for having told her; 
but she had replied unthinkingly. 

''What number?” 

" I — madam — I — Daisy, we must go to mamma now,” 
the girl said, in confusion, while she attempted to make 
the child drive on. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


105 


‘‘What number, girl? — you must tell me,^^ Helen 
Langley said, with flashing eyes and imperative tone. 

A sullen flush mounted to Martha’s brow; she was not 
in the haughty woman’s employ, and there was nothing 
to icompel her to give the number of her mistress’ resi- 
dence if she did not choose. 

“ Eighty-four West th Street,” lisped Miss Daisy, 

with all the artlessness in the world. Why, Marfa! you 
fordot,” she added, with an air of superiority at having 
been able to tell what she thought she could not. 

She had been taught the street and number by Cecile, 
who had said: 

“If she should ever wander away and get lost, she 
can then at least tell where she lives.” 

Mrs. Langley shot a glance of triumph at Martha, as 
Daisy thus gave her the information she desired, drew 
forth some ivory tablets from her pocket, and wrote it 
down. 

“ You may drive on now, John,” she said to the coach- 
man, and the carriage passed while Martha went back to 
her mistress with her charge. 

She did not tell her anything regarding this meeting, 
for she instinctively felt that it would be a disagreeable 
topic to Cecile, and she hoped that no harm would result 
from it. 


106 


A TJRirj^ AHISTOCJRAT. 


CHAPTEK XriL 

WOULD KOT TRUST HER WITH YOU/' 

A FEW days after Cecile^s visit to Central Park Mrs. 
Colonel Langley’s elegant carriage stopped before 

No. 84 AVest th Street^ and Mrs. Langley herself sat 

therein. 

She alighted, and mounting the steps rang the bell. 
Does Mrs. Montgomery reside here?” she inquired 
of the landlady, who answered her ring. 

Yes’m,” was the reply, while the woman wondered 
what this grand lady could want with her quiet but 
pretty tenant. 

^^Show me to her rooms,” commanded Mrs. Langley 
authoritatively, and the landlady, with an angry flush 
on her cheek at being thus addressed, turned to obey 
without a word. 

After Helen Langley’s interview with Cecile on that 
morning when she had come to her in her trouble, she 
had been nearly distracted on her brother’s account. 

In spite of her skepticism in Cecile’s presence, she 
knew well enough that something must have happened 
to him, for he was not a man who would ever, under 
any circumstances, desert a woman in the way that she 
pretended to his wife to believe he had done. 

Next to herself, he had been the only object on earth 
whom she had ever really loved, and she insisted that a 
search should at once be instituted for him, and an 
agent had been dispatched to Liverpool to hunt him up; 
but after a fruitless search of three months the man had 
returned, and the general belief among all his friends 
was that he was dead. 

Colonel Langley and many others believed that he 
had been robbed and murdered, for if any accident had 


t 




A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 107 

happened to him there were papers about his person — 
aside from the steamer tickets which he had with him — 
which would have identified him, and they would doubt- 
less have received some news of him long before this. 

“ Helen, I think we ought to make over Howard’s 
fortune to his wife and child,” he had said on more than 
one ocpasion, for his conscience often troubled him as 
he thought of that delicate girl struggling for the sup- 
port of herself and little one. 

But he was one of those men who have no decision of 
character, and are held in complete subjection by the 
stronger will, of their wives. 

‘^Nonsense,” she would impatiently reply, that silly 
girl is no more competent to manage a fortune than her 
baby is; besides, we do not know where she is.” 

Well, we can advertise; I do not feel right to keep 
this money from her,” the colonel said uneasily. 

‘^Advertise, indeed!” sneered Helen, ^‘and have all 
New York inquiring what it means. It will do her good 
to feel the need of money after her haughty refusal of 
my offer to help her. If she had given me the child 
I would have done anything for her; but you should have 
seen how proud-spirited and overbearing she was, and 
the haughty way in which she rejected my overtures.” 

Mrs. Langley had given her own version of the inter- 
view to her husband, leading him to believe anything 
but the truth of Cecile. 

When Mr. Simons had approached him upon the sub- 
ject of giving the young wife an income from her hus- 
band’s property Helen had vetoed it so indignantly that 
he dare not accede, saying that he could do nothing un- 
til he could learn something definite concerning Mr. 
Montgomery. 

But Helen could not forget that beautiful child, and 
more than once she tried, in a sly way, to discover where 
Cecile lived, hoping to find her in such abject poverty 
that she would be glad to give Daisy up to her. 

Since encountering the little one in Central Park she 
had not known a restful moment. 

She was the most exquisitely lovely child she had ever 


108 


A TBUE ARISTOCRAT. 


seen, and her heart yearned for her with a mighty long- 
ing — she coveted her as she had never coveted any- 
thing in her life before, and a wild desire — a determina- 
tion to get possession of her in some way — took posses- 
sion of her. 

Daisy had appeared anything bnt the poverty-stricken 
child which she had imagined her to be when she met 
her that bright day in the Park, and this fact did not 
tend to make her any easier in her mind. 

She wondered how Oecile managed to dress her so 
daintily, and above all keep a nurse for her. 

It was a mystery tantalizing beyond endurance; there- 
fore she resolved to make a voyage of discovery, and 
thus we find her seeking another interview with her 
despised sister-in-law. 

When she was shown into Cecile^s small but tasteful, 
even luxurious parlor, she looked around with unfeigned 
astonishment. 

The room was almost artistic in its appointments, for 
Cecile dearly loved all things beautiful — they were al- 
most a necessity to her, and as her business had been so 
prosperous she felt justified in making her home as at- 
tractive as possible, and she was determined to surround 
her child with all the refining influences in her power. 

She was greatly assisted in this by the many treasures, 
pictures, statues, and articles of virtu that she had 
brought with her from abroad. 

Where on earth does she get all the money to buy 
these things?^'’ Mrs. Langley exclaimed, staring blankly 
at a costly painting opposite her. 

But before she could think of any solution to the puz- 
zling problem the door opened and the object of her 
thoughts entered. 

Cecile did not dream who her visitor was when the 
landlady had called her from her work-room and told her 
she had a caller waiting in her parlor. 

She started visibly, flushed scarlet, then grew white 
as the dainty ruffle at her throat, as the thought flashed 
into her mind that perhaps Helen had come to bring her 
some news of her husband. 


A TBUB ARISTOCRAT. 


109 


‘‘Mrs. Langley! Helen! Have you heard anything 
about Howard?^" she asked, in a low, strained tone, as 
she sank into a chair, feeling too weak and faint to 
stand. 

“Of Howard? What should I hear of him?” de- 
manded Mrs. Langley, coldly, while she gazed, as if fas- 
cinated, at Cecile. She seemed to be more beautiful 
every time she saw her. 

“I do nob know, of course, only I could imagine no 
other reason to bring you here,” she answered, with a 
slight emphasis, and instantly regarding her self-pos- 
session. 

Her momentary hope had been destroyed, and she 
realized that her husband’s sister had sought her for no 
unselfish motive, and braced herself for a disagreeable 
interview. 

“I will tell you presently why I have come,” Helen 
responded, coolly. “ But,” glancing again about the 
pretty room, “really, Cecile, how very comfortably you 
are fixed! How did you manage to get all these nicfe 
things?” 

Cecile’s eyes glowed. 

Yearned most of them, Mrs. Langley,” she returned, 
proudly. 

'‘^Earned them! How, pray?” was the skeptical re- 
ponse, while she eyed the fair girl suspiciously. 

Cecile colored vividly at her tone. 

“By honest labor with both hand and brain,” she 
answered, briefly. 

“Ido not believe it. You were never taught to work, 
and girls like you do not loorh for such things as these,” 
Helen Langley retorted, insultingly, and glancing around 
the room. 

Cecile rose at this, her face like a snow-flake in its 
whiteness, her eyes gleaming with a fire such as the 
woman before her had never believed they could emit. 

“ Mrs. Langley,” she said, icih^ “ my time is valuable. 
If you have any business with me you will please state 
.it at once. I usually receive all business calls in the 
wareroom below, where my goods are made; but since 
you are here, I will listen to you.” 


110 


A miTB ABISTOOBAT. 


Helen opened her eyes at this. 

In the wareroorn below/" Cecile had said. What 
could the girl be in, that she talked thus like a man 
about the manufacture of goods? 

What do you mean? What do ^ou have to do with 
a Mvareroom" ?"" she asked, curiously. 

I do not know that I feel called upon to enter very 
minutely into details,"" Cecile said, with dignity. Suf- 
fer me to say, however, that when you drove me so 
.heartlessly from you in my dire necessity, you uncon- 
sciously rendered me the greatest service in your power; 
you drove me to self-dependeiice, and led me to discover 
that in my character which I never dreamed that I pos- 
sessed — courage, resolution, and a reserve power that 
has enabled me to rise to a position where 1 d^ not need 
help from any one."" 

Hoiu have 3mu done this?"" Helen asked, regarding 
her wonderingly. 

With these hands,"" she returned, holding out those 
white, delicate members with a proud smile, ‘^and,"’ 
touching her gleaming forehead with one slender finger, 
‘Mvith these brains."" 

Yes, but how, I ask?"" Mrs. Langley demanded im- 
patiently. Her curiosity was aroused to the highest 
pitch. 

That does not signify — at least to you,"" Cecile an- 
swered coldly; *^the fact remains that my means are 
ample for all my needs. Now, what can I do for you?"" 

Her visitor did not feel very comfortable to be told all 
this; it did not augur well for the success of her errand. 

I came to see if I could not help you in some way,"" 
she said; but her eyes drooped guiltily beneath the smile 
of scorn which curved Cecile’s red lips at the idea of 
such tardy assistance, and a crimson flush mounted to 
her brow. 

Did not Martha tell you that I met her in the park 
last Tuesday?"" she continued, trying to recover herself. 

‘^No; she said nothing to me. She probably did not 
recognize you, and I do not need any help, Mrs. Lang- 
ley."" This last with freezing politeness. 


A TEUE AEI8T0CRAT. 


Ill 


Helen’s eyes flashed; but she thought best to control 
her temper just then, and she ignored those last proud 
words. 

“Yes, she did recognize me,” she returned, “for I 
spoke to both her and Daisy. Did the child say noth- 
ing of the meeting?” 

“No; she told me nothing.” 

“Well, it was that circumstance which brought me 
here to-day,” Mrs. Langley said somewhat nervously. 
“Martha would not give me your address, but Daisy 
knew it and told me, and that was the way I found you 
out. The child is lovely, Cecile, and she won my heart 
at once. It struck me that, situated as I am, I can do 
much better for my brother’s child than you, who have 
to struggle for your living, earning it dollar by dollar — 
although I must confess that I am astonished to find 
that you have succeeded so well. I have come to offer 

to adopt Daisy Hear me out!” she broke forth 

eagerly, as Cecile's blanching lips opened to utter an in- 
dignant protest. “I will legally adopt her; she shall be 
in every respect as my daughter, and inherit my proi)erty 
as well as her father’s, when we are convinced as to his 
fate. I will rear and educate her as you cannot possibly 
be able to do at your very best. I am the most suitable 
person to have the care of Howard’s child, and you must 
give her to me, Cecile.” 

The woman had regained all her arrogance and self- 
assurance as she concluded. 

Cecile heard hei‘ out, standing tall and stately as a 
young elm before her, her fair face and golden head 
gleaming above her black robes like a lily crowned with 
stars. 

Her hands were loosely clasped in iront of her, and 
though there was not a vestige of color in her cheeks, 
her voice was clear as a silver bell, and steady, as she 
replied : 

“ Mrs. Langley, doubtless you have not forgotten that 
you once proposed this ^s'ame thing to me befoi e, and I 
gave you my answer. It is needless for me to say that 
it will be the same to-day.” 


• '.i I u xiiv^l uxxujxx uxx\^ '.. L 

ing to confess to any one. 

Yon are selfish — you do not consider the welfare of 
your child, she cried. 

‘‘ It is because I fZo consider the welfare of my child 
that I will not let you have her/^ Oecile returned, sternly. 
^‘No, if I were living on but a crust a day I would not 
trust her with you. It would be far better for her to 
suffer with me than to be reared to such poverty of soul 
as she would be in your care. But you are greatly in 
error. I am happy to say that I can give Daisy every 
reasonable comfort, and if I live she will be well edu- 
cated — she will receive every advantage that the most 
exacting could desire. That will be my life-work, and 
to make her just the pure, tender, true woman that her 
father would have loved to have her grow to be, had he 
lived to watch her develop into maturit3\ God, in tak- 
ing my husband, showed me that I had other duties. 
He has shown me, too, how to improve the talents He 
has given me, and, although Daisy should never have 
one dollar of Howard^s property, she will have, if I con- 
tinue to be prospered in the future, as I have been in 
the past, no mean inheritance when she reaches her ma- 
jority.^" 

Helen Langley sat there and heard all this, and won- 
dering more and more how this slight, delicate girl could 
have accomplished so much. 

All around her were evidences of prosperity, and she 
could not doubt the truth of what she had told her. Her 
own apparel, although simply made, was fine, and of the 
best material, while she looked and appeared every inch 
the cultivated lady, and fitted to shine in any sphere. 

'Her child, she remembered, had been exquisitely dressed; 
she kept a nurse for her, and she could not understand 
how such a simple, inefficient girl, as she believed Ce- 
cile Vavasour to be, could have risen above misfortune, 
conquering fate as it were, in this wa}^, working out her 


A TRXTE ARISTOCRAT. 113 

own independence, when a year and a half ago she knew 
that she had not a dollar that she could call her own. 

It was beyond her comprehension, and she realized at 
that moment that this lovely young mother was by far 
her superior in many ways. She recognized her as a 
perfect woman, nobly planned, more beautiful in form 
and feature than herself, her face shining with thought 
and ^ intellect, while her self-reliance and dignity of 
bearing commanded her admiration even though she 
hated her for it. 

You are carrying things with a high hand, it seems 
tome/' she said. “I suppose 3^011 would not let me 
have Daisy even if you knew Howard was living and de- 
sired it?'^ 

Cecile caught her breath at this question. 

Could it be possible that Helen had learned anything 
concerning Howard’s fate, and was now trying to rob her 
of her child so as to keep his fortune in her family? If 
she was convinced that she really knew anything, she 
would have thrown herself at her feet, and begged her 
to make it known to her. 

But one glance into her face was sufficient to tell her 
that she would get nothing from her; she had only referred 
to her husband to accomplish her own designs, if possible. 

She knew that he could not have returned, for his first 
work would have been to search for her; besides she had 
searched the passenger list of every steamer that had 
arrived since her own return. Not because she really ex- 
pected or hoped to gain any intelligence of him, but be- 
cause some fascination always drew her eyes to those lists 
of names. But his was never among them. 

“ My husband would not wish 3^011 to have the care of 
his child; he would never give her to the tender mercies of 
a woman who had abused and insulted another in distress 
as you have insulted me. If this was your only errand 
to me to-day, I must tell you without further parley that 
you have utterely failed in it,” Cecile said so coldly and 
decidedly that Mrs. Langley felt convinced tnat her case 
was hopeless. 

Still she would not give up — she would try bribery. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


>ttle a handsome income on you, if you will 
you can come to see Daisy — occasionally,'' 

. ')me income' belongs to me out of my hus- 
' " Cecile answered, with curling lips, ‘‘but 

',rush me, although you tried to do so, by 
me; and some time, I warn you, I shall 
recover all that Howard would wish to 
\ ' sy's. But your heart must be harder 

t. . offer me such a bribe! I do not want 

ai — I have sufficient for all our needs;" 

an mdered how she had done this. 

‘ .c/ give Daisy, then, under any circum- 

stai -.lie demanded, with glittering eyes. 

“^»j.ost emphatically 710!” and Cecile's staiiike face 
flashed deflance from every delicate feature. 

Helen Langley arose and faced her. 

“ Twice you have dared to thwart me, Cecile Vavasour," 
she cried, hoarse with passion; “ you married my brother 
in defiance of my wishes, and this resulted in estranging 
him from me, for ho held himself bound to his troth in 
spite of all that i could say. To-day you refuse to give 
me his child, whom I should worship if I could have, 
and now I warn you, that if ever the opportunity comes 
when I can crush you — I will do it!” 

She turned as she finished as if to go; but with a few 
swift, graceful steps, Cecile placed herself between her 
and the door, thus barring her exit. 

Her bright head was raised like a stag's at bay; her 
eyes had grown almost black from the conflict of 
emotions within her, and her cheeks were a vivid scarlet. 

She was gloriously, dazzlingly beautiful as she braced 
herself to do battle with her foe. 

“Did you imagine for one moment," she asked, in 
low, concentrated tones, “ that you could come here and 
wrest my only treasure from me? Did you think you 
could come, with impunity, into the home that I have 
made by the force of my will and perseverance, and in- 
sult me by offering me gold in exchange for my offspring? 
What do you take me for, to suppose that I would bar- 


A TEUB ARISTOGBAT. 


115 


ter my own flesh and blood were I even starving, and 
were Howard Montgomery twice yonr brother? — it is a 
mystery to me how two natures in the same family could 
be so wholly unlike — his so gentle, noble and kind; 
yours so unfeeling and craven. 

“You have little understood my character if you sup- 
posed I would tamely submit to the insults you have 
offered me to-day. Before my marriage — on that day — 
I bore your abuse in silence for Howard’s sake; I loved 
him too well to pain him by revealing to him \vhat a 
monster of inhumanity his only sister was. But now, 
with no one to protect me, I have my own interests to 
look after, my own battles to fight. I am able to do it 
— I shall do it. 

“Now let this interview be our last — since you never 
seek me but to offer me abuse; never come to me again; 
I will not see you.” 

She stood aside for her to pass as she concluded, and 
Mrs. Langley, dumb with surprise at the girl’s spirit, 
went out without a word, passed down the stairs, entered 
her carriage and was driven away; but her face was a 
dead white, while her black eyes looked the hate which 
she had not dared give expression to before the fierce 
and righteous indignation of the woman whom she had 
so outraged. 

“I will crush her — I will crush her! then we will see 
how the battle for the child will come out,” she mut- 
tered, as she rolled toward her palatial but lonely and 
childless home. 


116 


A raWB ABISTOCIiAT. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

STOLEN". 

G ive my baby, my treasure, my pure-hearted dar- 
ling, to her! What evil spirit could have pos- 
sessed her to come to me with such a proposition? Oh, 
God, grant that I may live to see my child a woman, so 
that she need not fall into the hands of any one so 
merciless and hard-hearted as Helen Langley is \” 

These were some of the excited sentences to which 
Cecile gave utterance after the departure of her sister- 
in-law, while she walked back and forth in her little par- 
lor with quick, indignant steps, blazing eyes and cheeks, 
and went over in her mind again that trying interview, 
and contemplated the fate that would be Daisy’s if 
Mrs. Langley could have her way. 

‘^She would dress her like a doll,” she wept on; ^^she 
would pet and spoil her one hour, and torture heV the 
next with her ungovernable temper; she would foster in 
her a spirit of pride, vanity, and selfishness, and starve 
her heart and intellect. Oh, my darling! my darling! 
all that I have in this wide world to live for; I will give 
you a mother’s fondest love, and while I will bestow 
upon you every good thing that I can, 1 will not spoil 
you ; 1 will teach you truth and purity, self-sacrifice and 
self-dependence.” 

A door opened at this moment, arid a fairy form, in 
spotless white, and with floating golden hair, appeared 
in the aperture. 

A few flying steps, a spring, and a glad ciw, and the 
beautiful child was in her mother’s arms. 

Cecile hugged her close to her heart, and kissed the 
fair face and rosebud li])S again and again. 

To think that any one should dare ask me to part 


A miljS; AJilSrOCI^AT. 


117 


with my child!” was the passionate thought of her 
wounded heart. 

Then she said aloud, in sweet, fond tones: 

Did my Daisy have a nice nap?” 

‘^Yes, mamma; and Marfa has made me all clean. 
It’s nice to be clean and the little one spread out her 
liands, smoothing in a dainty way her immaculate dress. 

She was very particular, this little Goldilocks;” she 
was never contented to wear a garment that had a spot 
of any kind on it; she liked to be clean,” and was 
never happier than when arrayed in a fresh gown, no 
matter how simple the cut and make, and Martha took 
great pride in fostering this trait of character. 

‘^Ah, my little one, if I can only keep you clean 
Avithin!” Cecile murmured, winding her arms more 
closely about her. 

Mamma, Avhat makes you look all — all lighted up?” 
Daisy asked, regarding her mother with wondering eyes, 
while she touched with one little finger Cecile's eyes and 
cheek, which still glowed from her recent excitement. 

^^All lighted up!” Cecile repeated, smiling at the 
quaint query. 

Yes^’m; all bright and shining. Has the sun kissed 
you, mamma, to make you so pretty? I fink yon are a 
• Ave-al beauty anyhoAv,^ ” Daisy responded, imitating 
the tone and manner of Mrs. Langley when she made 
the same assertion regarding her a few days previous, 
when they met in the Park. 

Cecile laughed a low, fond, amused laugh, as she 
again kissed the pretty lips of the lovely prattler. 

Little flatterer! what do yoio know about ^ we-al 
beauty?"’” she asked, and by degrees she drew from the 
child an account of her meeting with her aunt. 

She afterward questioned Martha, and learned all 
about the interview. 

Somehow it made her very uncomfortable; a sense of 
danger and insecurity took possession of her, and for a 
long time she could not endure to have Daisy long out of 
sight. 

But the feeling gradually wore away; business de- 


118 


A TBITB ABISTOOHAT. 


manded her care and. attention; everything moved along 
smoothly and prosperously, and thus the months flew 
by without a cloud until Daisy’s third birthday came 
around. 

Daisy shall have a pretty new doll for her birthday 
present, and we will go together and choose it to-day,” 
Cecile said, giving her three loving kisses upon her red 
lips as she awoke that morning. 

Accordingly, at eleven o’clock she ordered a carriage, 
and with her lieart full of love and joy that she was able 
to contribute thus to her little one’s jfleasure, she set 
forth to make the proposed purchase. 

When they reached the mammoth toy shop, it was 
delightful to'watch the child’s ecstacy as she wandered 
about exauxining the wonders of the enchanted place; 
and many wdio were selecting gifts for their own dar- 
lings at home stopped to observe the transport which 
this first visit to these heretofore unknown regions 
created. 

The doll was at last selected and put into the arms of 
the happy child, and then Cecile repaired to a large dry 
goods establishment near by to do a little shopping for 
herself. 

She lifted Daisy to a stool by the counter, and bade 
her sit still until she was through, which she was very 
willing to do, and devoted herself with a pretty, motherly 
air to the new treasure in her possession. 

Cecile selected v/hat she wished, and then stepped to 
another counter further down the store to examine some 
goods that had attracted her eye. 

‘^Sit still, Daisy, till mamma comes back,” she said, 
looking back over her shoulder as she went, while her 
heart thrilled -at the pretty picture the child made tend- 
ing her doll. 

She purchased a nice dress for Martha, the kind, faith- 
ful girl who devoted herself to her; this occupied her 
about fifteen minutes, and then she went back to where 
she had left Daisy. 

S/ie tuas not there! 

Cecile’s face clouded; the child was not wont to disobey 


A TjRUB AJRISTOCJiAT, 


119 


her, a-nd this first offense so soon after giving her pleasure 
hurt the fond mother. 

Of course she could not be far off, she thought, and 
she began to look about the store. 

It was very large, and the search occupied some time; 
but there were no signs anywhere of that dainty little 
figure in white, with those charming blue eyes and that 
floating golden hair. 

Every clerk in the establishment was interviewed, but 
no one knew anything about the child; several had seen 
her sitting there by the counter with the doll in her 
arms, but did not remember seeing her get down from 
the stool. 

^ As the unfruitful moments went by Cecile grew nearly 
distracted, and when all hope of finding her in the store 
was gone, she rushed into the street to look for her. 

The coachman whom she employed had been sitting 
on his box before the door all the time during her ab- 
sence, but he asserted that Daisy had not left the store; 
he was positive that he should have seen and recognized 
her if she had done so. 

Cecile hailed the first policeman and begged informa- 
tion of him, but he had seen no child answering her de- 
scription. 

The anxiety and despair of the stricken mother can be 
better imagined than described. 

The police were notified at headquarters, detectives 
were sent out, and everything that could be. done was 
done, but without avail; Daisy could not be found any- 
where, and Cecile was now robbed of her child as well as 
of her husband. 

She had begun of late to experience something of hope 
and happiness for the future; her life was bound up in 
her sweet little daughter, and the occupation of rearing 
and educating her promised to be a source of delight to 
her. But now the world was once more a blank to her. 

For three days and nights she neither ate nor slept; 
she walked her room in an agony of despair, heedless of 
all Martha^s attentions and entreaties not to ^^give up 
heart/^and refusing to be comforted. 








120 A mUE ARISTOCBAT. 

The third afternoon had nearly drawn to a close, when 
she stopped all at once in the middle of the room, a sud- 
den thought making her haggard face even more wan 
and ghastly, while with a sharp cry her hands flew up to 
her temples, as if it had pierced her brain. 

^MVhy did I not think of it before?^^ she cried, wildly. 
‘‘Helen Langley has stolen my child T 

“ What is it?'"’ Martha ^exclaimed, running in to her, 
and greatly startled by her wild -words and wilder man- 
ner. 

Helen Langley has stolen my child, she repeated, 
with trembling lips; and Martha instantly burst into 
tears, believing that her dear mistress had gone mad 
with gi-ieL 

But Cecile, with quick, nervous motions, "was arraying 
herself for the street; with this idea in her head, she had 
something tangible to act upon, and anything was more 
bearable than the intolerable suspense of the past three 
days. 

“ Bring me a cup of strong coffee, Martha,^^she com- 
manded, feeling, that she must have something to stay 
her waning strength; and when it was brought she 
drank it off like so much water, and then flew down 
into the street, hailed the first carriage she saw, and was 
driven with all speed to No. Fifth Avenue 

‘‘Is Mrs. Langley at home?” she demanded, with wild 
eyes and trembling lips, of the man who answered her 
imperative ring. 

He regarded her with astonishment, almost tempted to 
believe her to be some escaped lunatic. 

“Noma''m,”he at length answered, “Mrs. Langley 
left for California Monday morning.” 

Monday morning! 

Cecile uttered a low cry; that was the day Daisy had 
disappeared. 

“ What time Monday morning?” she questioned, ex- 
citedly. 

“A little after ten,” the man said, a feeling of pity 
stirring his heart at the sight of her agonized face and 
hueless lips. 


A ABTSTOCJiAT. 


121 


Cecile pressed her hands to her temples; she thought 
she should go wild. 

Mrs. Langlei' had started for the station a little after 
ten; Daisy had disappeared a little after eleven! 

She did not know that she had any right to suspect her 
sister-in-law of having kidnapped her child, but some- 
how the idea had become fixed in her mind and she 
could not rid herself of it. 

If Mrs. Langley had been driven directly to the 
station, she of course could have done nothing of the 
kind; but, if by any possibility she had first gone to 
Broadway, had passed the store where she had been 
shopping and had espied Daisy there, she felt sure that, 
with her intense longing to possess the child, she would 
have no more principle than to take her if she could do 
so without exciting suspicion. 

The opportunity, too, was one not to be lost, for 
she was going to the far West, and she would doubt- 
less think that no one would suspect her of the deed; 
and even if they did, it would be difiiicult to find her 
there. 

To what part of California has Mrs. Langley gone 
she asked. 

“ To San Francisco, I believe.^' 

The waiter saw that she was a lady in spite of her ex- 
cited manner, and he had not the heart to refuse to 
answer her questions. 

‘"Will you give me her address?’^ Cecile asked, add- 
ing, “ I have very important business with her.^'’ 

“I do not know it,"” the man said. 

“Is Colonel Langley at home — can I see him?’"’ the 
anxious mother pursued. 

“Colonel Langley is not at home; he was ordered to 
Washington a week ago, and Mrs. Langley’s return is 
indefinite,'’^’ said the servant. 

Cecile turned and staggered down the marble steps to 
her carriage, weak, trembling, and sick at heart. 

“ Home — No. 84 West th Street,'’^ she said to the 

driver, in a voice so hollow, and wdth a face so despair- 
ing, that he feared she should die before he ^'nuld get 
her there. 


122 


A TBiri; ABISTOCHAT. 


It seemed to the distracted mother almost asien' 
Heaven itself was against her; just as life had begd-i 
to assume sornetliing of comfort and prosperity, to have 
this crushing blow fall upon her was too cruel. What 
was her prosperous business to her — of what values were 
all the luxuries which she had acquirer!, the money she 
was yearly hoarding, except as they contributed to the 
welfare and future development of her idolized darling? 

If she could not find her she knew she should die, or, 
worse, become a raving maniac. 

Her faithful servant met her at the door when she re- 
turned with swollen, tear-stained face. 

Martha,'’^ Cecile said, gazing blankly at the nearly 
heart-broken girl, I am going to California.'’^ 

Martha gave a cry of dismay at this. 

She "was sure now that this last terrible trouble had 
turned the suffering woman'^s brain. 

Oh, madam,"'’ she cried, “ you are ill — you are worn 
out; let me get you a fresh cup of tea, and there is a nice 
chicken that I cooked yesterday; you must eat some- 
thing or you will famish."'’ 

She put Cecile into a chair as she spoke, and with 
trembling hands removed her hat and mantle. 

Yes,"" she said, ^^you may get me a good substantial 
meal, Martha, and I will try to eat, for 1 must have 
strength to accomplish what is before me; I start for 
San Francisco to-night."" 

Martha did not reply; she still believed that Cecile 
was wandering in her mind, and she had heard that it 
was not well to oppose the fancies of the insane. 

But she hastened to get her a nice supper, and was 
greatly comforted, when she served it, to see her eat 
with something like relish. 

And while she ate, Cecile told her of her suspicions 
and unfolded her plans. 


A TRUE ABI8T0UEAT. 


123 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE FLIGHT. 

D aisy, I belieVe, has been stolen by that woman 
who wanted to adopt her so long ago/^ Cecile said, 
growing calmer, while she ate and talked, and gained 
something of hope and confidence while she confided her 
plans to Martha. ‘^She has gone to California — left 
Monday, the very day that Daisy disappeared, and I must 
follow her immediately — I cannot live and not seek to 
know what has befallen her.^^ 

Martha begged her to tell her reasons for suspecting 
that Mrs. Langley had stolen her. 

do not know — I have discovered no fact nor inci- 
dent that should lead me to do so; but I do, neverthe- 
less. I am impressed that she has taken her, but how 
or when she could have done it, in broad daylight, in 
that large store without being detected I cannot imagine. 
But the thought has burned itself into my brain, and I 
shall not rest until I know. I cannot remain here and 
be inactive; the police and detectives are all on the alert 
here, and I can, of course, do nothing, and I cannot wait 
and be still. I shall follow Mrs. Langley to California, 
and then I can easily ascertain if she has a child with 
her. If she has not, I shall be satisfied on that point 
and return at once; if I find that Daisy is with her, I 
shall seek Dr Mortirner^s assistance, and he will help me 
to regain her.^^ 

Martha saw that she was bent upon going, and that it 
would be useless to try to dissuade her, and the more she 
thought of it the more she was inclined to approve of 
the plan. The journey would at least occupy her mind 
for a time, and prevent her wearing herself out with 
grieving. 


124 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


“ But what will become of the business while you are 
gone?^^ she asked thoughtfully. 

‘^1 sliall be obliged to leave everything with you 

With me!'^ interrupted the girl in dismay; surely, 
Mrs. Moirgomery, yon do not think of going to Califor- 
nia alone! It would not be safe — oh! I should be dis- 
tressed to death about you — you surely will let me go 
with you."^ 

“But, Martha, it is very expensive traveling by rail 
to California, and I do not feel like affording to take 
you with me, much as I should like jmur companionship. 
I must husband my money, for I do not know what is 
before me, and I shall spend my last dollar before I shall 
relinquish my search for my child. 

“ But madam — I have money — 1 have saved nearly all 
my wages — you have been so kind to me, and I will not 
be any expense to you,^'’ Martha pleaded, anxiously. 

Cecile was deeply touched by this proof of her love 
and fidelity. 

“No, my good girl,^^ she answered, “I must go alone, 
and you need not be anxious about me at all; traveling is 
made very easy and safe for ladies in this country; be- 
sides, if you should go with me, the business would have 
to stop, and I cannot afford that under any circum- 
stances now; and then all those poor girls would be 
thrown out of employment,^" Cecile continued, thought- 
ful for others even in the midst of her own troubles. 

“You know pretty well how I have managed,"" she 
went on, encouragingly, as she saw the girFs anxious look, 
“and you did so well during those few days when I was 
ill that I feel I can trust you fully. However, do your 
best, and keep the girls at work on the present patterns 
until you hear from me. I shall leave on the evening 
express; meanwhile I shall have much to do to get ready. 
While I arrange about my business, I shall leave yon to 
put up what clothing I shall need for a few weeks, and 
pack a basket of luncheon for me — being alone, I shall 
. not like to get out at the different stopping-places."" 

All Cecile’s energy seemed to have returned to her now. 
She felt much stronger already for eating, and with her 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


135 


mind fully determined upon her course of action, she was 
ready and eager to put her plans into execution. 

Everything was very shortly arranged. 

There was not a girl in her employ who did not sym- 
pathize with her deeply in her affliction, and all promised 
to be faithful during her absence, and give Martha no 
more trouble than they could help. 

Just before starting, Cecile telegraphed to Dr. Morti- 
mer that she was in deep trouble, that she would start 
that hour for San Francisco, go straight through, and 
asked him to meet her, if possible, when she arrived. 

It was a long, tedious journey — almost interminable, 
it seemed to Cecile’s tired, impatient spirit. 

She grew thin and wtln with constant inward chafing, 
while a sort of slow fever hung about her, eating away 
her strength and vitality with every passing day. 

It was over, however, at last, and as the train steamed 
into the magnificent station at Oakland — the terminus 
of the Central Pacific Railroad — she looked eagerly forth 
from the car window, anxiously scanning every counte- 
nance. 

Almost the first she saw, when the train stopped, was 
Dr. Mortimer’s friendly face; for, faithful to his promise 
to ^‘help her in any emergency,” he had come to meet 
her here, well knowing that it would be very hard for her 
to look after her baggage and cross the bay to San Francisco 
alone, after her wearisome journey. 

She had been brave and self-reliant all the way, but 
now the reaction had come — the strain upon her delicate 
organization had been more than she could well bear; 
her strength forsook her, and she sank back in her chair 
and gave way to a burst of nervous weeping. 

Dr. Mortimer had seen that anxious face, those 
strained, troubled eyes at the window, and he immedi- 
ately sprang upon the car and came to her. For one 
brief instant he held the hand she gave him without a 
word of greeting, then stepped behind her chair and 
stood quietly waiting there until she could recover in a 
measure her composure. 

He saw how she was at once; she had come all that 


126 


A mU'B ABISTOCJ^AT, 


long distance alone, driven by some great trouble to 
seek his aid; she was worn, anxious, nervous, and needed 
rest and quiet more than anything else just at present. 

Give me your checks, Mrs. Montgomery,"^ he said, at 
length, bending forward and speaking in a low tone, 

and I will go and attend to your baggage, then return 
for you.” 

She gave him her one check, for she had brought only 
a single small trunk; and he went out, while she thanked 
him in her inmost heart for his thoughfulness and deli- 
cacy in thus leaving her alone. 

When he returned she was more like herself, and gave 
him both her hands in a burst of gratitude. 

^‘This is very good of you. Dr. Mortimer. I fear I 
have put you to a great deal of trouble,” she said, not 
able, even then, to control the quivering of her beauti- 
ful lips. But,” she added, trying to smile, have 
taken you at your word, and kept my promise to you. 
I am in sore need of a friend just now, and have turned 
to you as you bade me do."" 

You have done perfectly right,"" he answered, 
heartily, and in so doing you have conferred a great 
favor upon me by your confidence in me. But come, 
we will not remain longer here; I have engaged rooms 
for you in the same house where I have my home — I 
thought it would be much more pleasant and more home- 
like than for you to go to a hotel; and Mrs. Lawson, my 
landlady, is a kind, motherly woman, and will exert her- 
self to make you comfortable.” 

Cecile was touched by this evidence of his considera- 
tion for her. 

She had dreaded, more than she would have been will- 
ing to confess, going alone to a strange hotel, but had 
expected to be obliged to do so. 

They repaired to the ferry and crossed the bay, which 
Occupied some twenty minutes, and upon landing again 
the doctor led her to his own carriage, which was wait- 
ing to convey them to good Mrs. Lawson"s boarding- 
house. 

During their drive he would not allow her to tell him 


A TJi UJSI ABIST0CJ2AT. 


127 


anything, even though he was exceedingly anxious to 
know what dire necessity could have sent her flying thus 
to him. 

‘^You must not talk until you haye had food and 
rest,^’ he said decidedly, when once she lifted her white 
face to him and seemed about to confide in him, and lie 
immediately began a lively description of the city gen- 
erally, and the streets through which they were passing, 
while with a sense of restfulness already stealing over 
lier, she leaned back against the soft cushions and lis- 
tened to him. 

She found her rooms — a bedroom, with a charming 
little sitting-room connected — very pleasant and cozy, 
whil^ Mrs. Lawson had an inviting meal all ready to 
serve to her as soon as she should replace her travel- 
stained garments with fresh ones. 

have an appointment now,” Dr. Mortimer said, 
iust as she was about to sit down to the table. shall 
oe absent for an hour, perhaps a little longer; meantime 
you must eat well and rest, and when 1 return you shall 
tell me all your trouble.” 

She could not speak as he took her hand at parting, 
the great sobs choked her so, but she was lighter of heart 
than' she had been since the loss of Daisy, for she knew 
that this strong, brave man would do his utmost to help 
her, and somehcfv the sight of his noble, kindly face 
made her very hopeful. 


And now how was it with blue-eyed, golden-haired 
Daisy? The beautiful little fairy sat upon the stool 
where her mother had placed her for some ten minutes, 
keeping up a brisk, imaginary conversation with her 
newly-acquired treasure — the doll. 

While thus employed another carriage stopped before 
the store, and a lady in a traveling-dress alighted and 
entered. 

"^Is the package of goods that I ordered yesterday 
ready for me?” she asked, approaching the counter 
where Cecile had stood but a few minutes before. 


128 


A AmSTOCBAT. 


It was Mrs. Langley, and she seemed to he in some- 
thing of a hurry. 

The obsequious clerk bowed as he answered: 

Yes, madam,"" and handed her what appeared to be 
a box neatly wrapped in white paper. 

She paid him, and then while she was arranging the 
contents of her purse he was called further down the 
counter to wait upon other customers. 

Mrs. Langley took up her parcel and was about turn- 
ing to leave the store, being so intent upon her errand 
that she had not even noticed the child sitting so near 
her, when Daisy, proud of her new possession, held her 
up, saying brightly: 

Dolly is a weal beauty."" 

Those words, "'real beauty,"" had seemed to cling to 
her ever since her meeting with her aunt in the Park, 
and she was continually using them, somewhat to the 
annoyance of Cecile, wlio was always unpleasantly re- 
minded of her sister-in-law whenever she heard them. 

Mrs. Langley glanced down upon the child and started. 

She knew her inscantly, and her face flushed with 
pleasure ac the meeting; it was her brothers little one, 
and her heart was strangely moved by her presence. 

"So she is a real beauty, darling,"" she replied, bend- 
ing down and hastily kissing the little flowerlike face; 
" but where is mamma?"" ^ 

"Mamma way down there,"" Daisy answered, pointing 
with one tiny finger in the direction her mother had 
gone. 

Mrs. Langley looked, but Cecile was not in sight — she 
was standing on the other side of a pillar at the further 
end of the store, having just completed her purchase, 
and was now waiting for her change. 

There was no one near them — the clerks were all busy 
with other customers, and they were just at the entrance 
to the store, which stood upon a corner with doors open- 
ing on two streets. 

A strange light had shot into Mrs. Langley"s eyes as 
she noticed all this, and hastily quitting the child she 
went out to her carriage. 


A TaWB ABISTOCBAT. 


129 


John, I hare a little more business to do, she said, 
hurriedly, to the driver; you can drive on to the station 
and get iny baggage checked, and I will take a car; that 
will save time, and I have none to lose.” 

John touched his hat, gathered up the reins, and drove 
on, while his mistress returned 'to the store, a desperate 
and diabolical purpose in her heart. 

Everybody was busy, and Daisy sitting just where she 
had left her; while a quick, searching glance told her 
that Cecile was nowhere in sight. 

Come, dear; mamma wants you. I will take you to 
her,” she said, in a low, coaxing tone, and holding out 
her hand to her. 

Never doubting the truth of this assertion, the little 
one got down from her perch, put her hand confidingly 
into the one extended to her, and the two passed out of 
the side entrance to the store, thus coming out upon an- 
other street. 

Walking as swiftly as she could for a little way with 
her small charge. Sirs. Langley turned another corner, 
hailed a car, and entered, a sigh of relief escaping her, 
as she thus felt reasonably sure of not being followed. 

After riding a short distance, she changed cars, and 
was taken directly to the railway station. 

Here she found the train on which she was to leave, 
waiting. Ten minutes was all the time that remained. 

She already had her ticket, and 'entering a palace car, 
she placed Daisy on a chair, bade the porter have an eye 
to her for a few minutes, and then went in search of 
John, to get her checks. 

She was nervous and trembling, and so excited that 
the coachman, who was also looking for her, wondered 
what had occurred to disturb her composure to such an 
extent. She was usually calm, imperious, and self-as- 
sured. She dismissed him as soon as she could, and 
then returned to Daisy. 

‘‘ Where’s my mamma?” the little one demanded, look- 
ing up into her face with wondering eyes and a grieved 
expression about her lips. 

''Mamma will come' by and by,” she returned, sooth- 


130 


A TJUriJ AHISTOCBAT. 


in^ly, and then began to talk in a very interesting man- 
ner about Miss Dolly, to turn her attention. 

A boy with fruit was passing, and she bought a 
quantity of oranges, bananas, and confectionery, and 
with these kept Daisy busily employed until the train 
was well under way, and the poor little darling was 
being borne, as fast as steam and wheels could carry her, 
away from the fond mother who was at that moment 
frantically searching for her, and bound over the plains 
for far California. 

Helen Langley had accomplished a bold and dastardly 
deed; but she had gained her object — her brother's 
beautiful child was in her possession, and she meant to 
keep her. 

‘‘No one will ever suspect me; no one will ever dream 
that I have the child. 1 have managed this thing very 
cleverly,^^ she thought to herself, as, after long and 
wearisome effort, she had beguiled Daisy to sleep, and 
sat holding her in her arms, with a sense of triumph at 
having thus successfully achieved her purpose. 

But she was greatly mistaken. 

A mother^s love and intuition were more powerful 
and unerring agents to detect her cowardly act than she 
imagined. 

She was yet to realize what Cecile had once told her, 
that “a Vavasour was a match for a Montgomery,” in 
more senses than one. 


A TRUE ABISTOGBAT. 


131 


CHAPTER XVI. 

WILL FIND HER/^ 

W HEN Dr. Mortimer returned from his appoint- 
ment/' he found Cecile looking much refreshed, 
although still very anxious and worn. 

She had exchanged her traveling dress for a hand- 
some black silk, which fitted her slight figure like a 
glove, and though she wore no colors, the mass of 
creamy lace which she had arranged about her throat 
gave her an air of elegance that was very striking. 

She was passing fair in Dr. Mortimer's eyes — danger- 
ously fair, as he afterward found. 

He had never forgotten her during the years that had 
elapsed since he parted from her in New York. Her 
beautiful face, with its lovely, piteous eyes, had haunted 
him for many a long month after his return. It had 
become an ideal face to him, and no other had ever had 
power to attract him afterward. 

He saw now, however, that she had greatly im- 
proved. She had developed wonderfully. She was a 
hundred-fold more charming now than she had ever been 
before. 

He had been greatly disappointed because he had 
never heard from her. He was hurt that she did not 
write and tell him something about herself. 

He forgot that he had said to her your husband 
returns, you will write and tell me, that 1 may rejoice 
with you," and she had given her promise in that way. 

Many times he had been upon the point of writing ito 
her, for the longing to know her better was strong with- 
in him; but as often he had thrown aside his pen, say- 
ing impatiently to himself: 

am a fool — she would despise me if she knew 


132 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


how weak I am. She told me she would call upon me 
if she ever needed me, but she does not; she probably 
does not think of me at all, except, perhaps, as a kind- 
hearted fellow who once did her a kindness, although 
she was grateful enough at the time, and said she should 
‘ never forget ^ me. I am a dolt to let her haunt me 
thus. If her husband has ever returned she is happy, 
and I have no business to be thinking of her in this 
way;^^ but a sigh of loneliness escaped him, and a sense 
of something lost out of his life always pervaded him at 
such times, when he realized how nearly he had come to 
love that beautiful, desolate women whom he had be- 
friended during their voyage across the Atlantic. 

Nevertheless, when he had met her that day in the 
car, and looked into those fathomless blue eyes, he 
knew that Howard Montgomery had never returned, 
and that some other trouble had been added to fill up 
the measure of her grief. 

Was Daisy dead?^^ he aked himself, as he saw that 
she was alone. 

But no; that would not be a trouble that w^ould send 
her flying to the far AVest to seek aid from him. 

A strange thrill shot through him. She was alone and 
in sorrow; she had come to him, and that was sufficient 
to make him her slave, and devote every energy to her 
service. 

You are feeling somewhat rested, he said, gently, 
as he took her hand again, when she arose to meet him 
on his return. . 

Yes, I am much refreshed; and. Dr. Mortimer,” 
with an earnest quiver in her tones, ^Ht was very kind 
and thoughtful in you to arrange these comforts forme.” 

Oecile glanced around the cheerful, home-like apart- 
ment as she spoke. 

The corners of the doctor’s handsome mouth curved 
in a little smile of amusement as well as pleasure at her 
appreciation of his efforts. She did not know that he 
had given up his own rooms to her, and taken a small, 
poorly furnished one up another flight, for Mrs. Daw- 
son’s house was full, and in no other way could Oecile 
have been accommodated there. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


133 


I an’anged for yon just as I would have done for 
my own sister, if I had one, and she had come to visit 
me,” he said, simply. 

The tears started to Cecile^s eyes; it was infinitely 
comforting to her to have him speak thus to her. It 
would be grand, she thought, to have such a brother. 

I suppose you are wondering what has brought me 
to San Francisco in such haste to seek your assistance,” 
she said, a slight flush rising to her cheek, '^but, rny 
friend, I am in sore distress — my child,” a great sob 
swelling her chest, my Daisy has been stolen from me.” 

Daisy stolen from you!” he ejaculated in astonisli- 
ment, while his great heart seemed to bound into his 
throat at this dreadful intelligence. 

He had grown very fond of the lovely babe during 
that sad voyage, but he had been sure from the despair 
in her mother’s eyes that day that she was dead, and 
much as he had longed to ask when” and how,” he had 
shrunk with keenest pain from hearing the fatal words. 

Yes,” Cecile returned, nearly a fortnight ago she 
disappeared in the most mysterious manner, and I be- 
lieve she has been brought to this city; so I have fol- 
lowed her as quickly as I could — I must find her or 1 
shall die; and this. Dr. Mortimer, is what 1 want you to 
help me to do.” 

Of course I shall help you,” he said heartily, while 
he gazed pitifully into her sad eyes, but you surprise 
me more than I can tell you. Stolen ! AVho could, have 
done such a dastardly deed, and for what purpose?” 

My suspicions have fallen upon her aunt — my hus- 
band’s sister, Mrs. Langley;” and then she told him tlie 
circumstances of Daisy’s sudden disappearance — the 
thought that had come like an inspiration to her, her 
visit to Mrs. Langley’s residence, and the discovery that 
she had left for California the very day her child was 
lost. 

Dr. Mortimer’s face was almost a blank as he listened. 

^'But I thought — excuse me — I believed ” he be- 

gan, and then stopped in confusion. 

Cecile smiled sadly. 


134 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


You believed I sought help and comfort from my 
husband's sister upon my return from Europe/" she said, a 
vivid scarlet staining her cheeks, and understanding him 
at once. ‘"So I did, but Mrs. Langley had been op- 
posed to my marriage with her brother, and had threat- 
ened to be revenged upon me if ever the opportunity was 
offered her, and when I sought her, and told her my sad 
story, she refused me all aid — she would not give me a 
shelter, even, until I could decide w^hat was best for me 
to do — she would not even lend me money enough to 
cancel my indebtedness to you, and mocked at my grief 
and trouble."" 

“Mrs. Montgomery — I am shocked — grieved beyond 
expression!"" Dr. Mortimer exclaimed in dismay. “You 
had endured all this on that day that I left you, and you 
did not tell me! — you let me go away believing you were 
provided wuth every comfort, with kind friends to care 
for you and to give you the sympathy you so much 
needed — you were overiolielmed with sorrow, and you 
could not confide in me when there was nothing that I 
would not have done for you!’" he concluded, re^Droach- 
fully. 

“No, I could not tell 5 ^ 011 ,"" Cecil returned, lifting 
her golden head with a regal movement. “I was too 
proud to tell you — kind as you had been to me — that my 
husband"s own and only sister had turned me into the 
street as she would have turned a beggar; that she re- 
fused me all aid — even the address of my husband’s law- 
yer, so that I might procure the money I so much 
needed."" 

“ But — but — you had money — you told me that it was 
perfectly convenient to refund what I loaned you — 

you "" Dr. Mortimer began; then fearing he might be 

betraying too much curiosity regarding her affairs, he 
stopped short and colored like a girl. 

“Yes, I had money, my friend, and it loas perfectly 
convenient for me to cancel my indebtedness to you; so 
please do not reproach me for a pride which I could not 
conquer. My husband had lavished numerous and costly 
gifts upon me during our trip abroad, and as I knew 1 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


135 


should never take a moment’s comfort with them — could 
never wear them except for him, I disposed of many of 
them, and in that way supplied myself with funds sufli- 
cient for all my immediate needs, and I could not — I 
would not weakly lean upon any one.” 

He thought he had never seen any one more regally 
beautiful than Oecile was as she told him this; the dig- 
nity and pride with which she spoke showed him a 
strength and depth of character which he had not sus- 
pected she possessed. 

It was a very stormy interview that I had with my 
proud sister-in-law,” she continued, her cheek glowing 
at the remembrance, ‘‘and after she had abused me be- 
yond endurance she added insult to injury by offering to 
adopt my child — she had none of her own — and relieve 
me of that burde.i! Of course I indignantly refused 
this proposition — I would have fought poverty and want 
a desperate battle before I would have given up my dar- 
ling — and then she mocked at my grief, declaring that 
my husband had not met with any accident, as I be- 
lieved, but becoming weary of me, as she had previously 
prophesied he would do, had deserted me.” 

“ What a monster — what a reproach to womanhood 
she is!” Dr. Mortimer exclaimed excitedly; then added: 
“ But you have not had to battle with poverty, I trust; 
you found your husband’s man of business, and had your 
way smoothed for you, I hope.” 

“No; I did not discover who he w'as until it w^as too 
late; he died, and Colonel Langley assumed the care of 
my husband’s property, and I could get nothing from 
him. I could have established my rights by a lawsuit, 
I suppose, but I was too wretched to care to drag my 
troubles before the public, and so I made up my mind 
to ivork and be independent.” 

“ Mrs. Montgomery, why did you not send to me? I 
could have helped you in your extremity — I would have 
been so glad to do so,” Dr. Mortimer said, deeply 
grieved. 

“Because,” Cecile answered, straightening her form, 
a rich color in her cheeks, while her eyes gleamed with 


136 


A TEUE ABISTOCBAT. 


something of the resolution and purpose that had ani- 
mated her during the last three years, because some- 
thing rose up within me, making me determined to con- 
quer in the struggle. Helen Langley had told me before 
my marriage — when she tried to dissuade me from wed- 
ding her brother — that I was a ‘'mere baby'’ — that I had 
no character, and was not fit to be her brother’s wife — 
was not his equal either mentally or socially; and now 
she reproached me with it again, exulting over the ruin 
which she had prophesied. I felt that the time had 
come to test my character, and prove the material of 
which I was made, and I resolved that she should never 
be able to say that I sat weakly down and allowed my 
adverse fate to -crush me. I vowed I would rise above 
it — that I would make myself independent of her or the 
charity of any one. And I have; since that day I have 
supported myself, my child, and Martha; you remember 
good, kind Martha; a more faithful girl never breathed; 
and we three have formed a little household of ourselves 
until — Daisy was stolen,” and the sentences, which had 
been so strong and brave until now, ended in a sob. 

“ Mrs. Montgomery, I am amazed at what you have 
told me! how have you managed to do all this?” Dr. 
Mortimer asked, his fine eyes expressing the wonder and 
admiration he experienced for the spirit and independ- 
ence which ^she manifested. 

Much as he had admired her during the^r voyage 
across the ocean, he had never dreamed that she pos- 
sessed a force like this; he had deemed her a beautiful, 
cultivated woman — one who, all her life, had sat in the 
lap of luxury, and who must always be shielded and ten- 
derly cared for, and never be permitted to battle with 
the sharp winds of adversity. 

Here she sat before him now, the same and yet not 
the same; for the three years that had elapsed since their 
parting had served to develop in her a rare womanhood. 
She was far more dignified — more self-possessed, and her 
every movement, though now, as then, full of grace, told 
of a self-reliance, energy, and perseverance which would 
allow nothing to daunt her when once her resolution was 
taken. 


A mUB AHISTOCJiAT. 


137 


‘■^How have I done Cecile said, repeating his 
words, while her voice dropped to a low, reverent tone. 
“First by casting all my care upon Him who careth 
f '>r those whom He afflicts. It has been the hardest and 
yet the sweetest lesson that I have had to learn during 
all my life, but once learned, all other things have been 
comparatively easy. I took a contract of a gentleman in 
New York to furnish him with fancy articles made of 
laces. He was exceedingly kind, and exerted himself to 
help me in every possible way, and I believe we were 
mutually benefited by our business arrangement.” 

She then went more into the details, giving him a 
complete histoj-y of her career as a manufacturer and 
woman of business. 

“It has not been smooth all the way along,” she con- 
cluded, with a little sigh, but with a brave smile; “ I 
have been obliged to work hard with both hands and 
brain, but I have achieved, in a measure at least, my 
purpose; I haje not only made considerable money, and 
won for my 'small family every comfort, but I have 
grown better and stronger, both mentally and physically. 
I have saved money, too, and if I never receive a dollar 
of my husband’s property, there is no reason, if my 
business continues to prosper in the future as it has in 
the past, why I shall not have a snug little fortune of 
my own by and by.” 

Dr. Mortimer reached out and clasped the hand that 
lay near him. 

“Mrs. Montgomery,” he said, with a thrill in his 
tones, “I am very proud of you — I honor you; you have 
shown yourself a strong, brave, wise, as well as a loving 
woman. If there were more like you in the world there 
would be fewer bad men, fewer miserable homes; for, in 
my opinion, the cause of much of the crime in our coun- 
try proceeds from vain, weak-minded women, who will 
not work, but spend selfishly and extravagantly, until 
they drive their husbands and friends to desperation, and 
they resort to illegal means to gratify their foolish 
whims.” 

“ I fear I do not deserve your praises,” Cecile an- 


138 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


swered, thoughtfully; '‘'the force of circumstances has 
driven me to exertion, and doubtless I owe everything 
to that. But, oh! Dr. Mortimer,'’^ she cried, all the 
anguish and mother-love for her lost darling suddenly 
rolling over her heart like a great wave, to the exclu- 
sion of every other thought, " my life, my work for the 
last three years, will all have been a failure if I cannot 
find my child." 

"I know," he answered, gravely; "and if, as you 
surmise, she is here in this city, we will find her;" and 
Cecile took courage from his confident tone and the 
ready sympathy which led him to identify himself with 
her interests. 


\ 


A AHISTOCHAT. 


139 


OHAPTEK XVII. 

THE MOTHER-IHSTIHCT. 

I DO not know but I may haye come upon a useless 
chase/^ Oecile said afterward, when they were con- 
sidering the matter of Daisy's disappearance; “I have 
not the slightest that Mrs. Langley has taken her 
—nothing save an impression, a presentiment has 
actuated my movements. It was a feeling — an intuition, 
as it were — which came over me in an instant, and 
which I have not been able to shake off. My losing 
Daisy on the very day and about the same time that she 
started for California is the only circumstance which 
points that way. I can only imagine that she came into 
the store on some errand where we were, saw her sitting 
by the counter where I had left her, and seized that 
opportunity to carry her away. If she had not been so 
extremely anxious to take her; if she had not begged so 
earnestly for me to give her to her, even offering me a 
‘handsome income' in exchange" — this with curling lips 
and flashing eyes — “perhaps I should not have attributed 
this kidnapping to her." 

“.What plan of action have you thought of?" asked 
Dr. Mortimer, thoughtfully. 

He would not discourage her by telling her that he 
thought the foundation of her hope that Daisy was with 
Mrs. Langley in San Francisco was a very weak one. 
He, too, feared she had come upon a wild and what 
would prove to be a fruitless chase; but at all events he 
would do what he could to help her. 

“I thought of searching all of the hotel-lists — at least 
all of the first-class hotels; Mrs. Langley would patronize 
only such — and, if I could find her name, trace her from 


140 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


there. Failing in that, I will set some detective at 
work,” Cecile answered. 

Yes that will be the best course to pursue,” he 
returned, ‘^and I wdll begin the search at once. I will 
myself visit what first-class hotels I have time for this 
very afternoon, and go over the list of names.” 

Cecile sighed; she began to realize that the task she 
had set herself bade fair to be a long one. 

Meanwhile, what could she do to employ herself to 
make the time pass quickly? 

She at length decided that she could not be ide; she 
must have work, or she would chafe and worry away 
what little strength remained to her. 

The next day, closely veiled, she went out and bought 
a quantity of laces; returning to her rooms, she set about 
making some samples to send to Martha for the girls to 
copy in her manufactory. 

The fourth day after her arrival, about ten in the 
morning. Dr. Mortimer knocked on her door. At her 
sweet, low-voiced Come in,” he entered, and, as Cecile 
arose to greet him, he thought, despite the sad, inquir- 
ing eyps and anxious quiver of her lips, he had never 
seen a fairer vision in all his life. 

Her golden hair was coiled like a coronet about her 
shapely head, and shone smooth and glossy as satin. 

She wore a trailing rohe de neglige of spotless white, 
exquisitely, trimmed with some filmy fairylike lace, while 
her only ornament was a cluster of fragrant geranium 
leaves fastened just beneath her faultlessly molded chin. 

Dr Mortimer’s eyes burned with an intense light as .his 
glance fell upon them. 

He had sent her a lovely bouquet the day before, and 
he was quite sure those leaves had been culled from it; 
but his heart would not have throbbed in the way it did 
if he could have known how tenderly Cecile’s fair hands 
had separated them from the flowers, and pressed them 
to her quivering lips, as she murmured, brokenly: 

‘^Oh, Howard, my dear love! you always loved these 
delicate, fragrant things, and their perfume seems to 
bring you nearer to me/^ 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


141 


And so, with only her great, absorbing love for her 
husband welling up in her heart, she had pinned them 
upon her breast, little imagining the wild hope that 
would thrill another as he looked upon them. 

Dr. Mortimer once, while talking with her about the 
past, had asked her how she now felt regarding her hus- 
band’s absence, and lifting her hopeless eyes to his, she 
had answered: 

Dr. Mortimer, if Howard Montgomery were living 
and could come to me, I knotu he would do so; he would 
never forsake the woman whom he had wedded — no mat- 
ter what faults he might have discovered in her afterward 
— as his sister tried to torture me into believing. No — 
he is dead — there is no other way by which to account for 
his absence. For a whole year — yes, more — I looked and 
hoped for his return; then the hope died.” 

Hope died” 

The words, uttered with paling cheek and trembling 
tones that told how mighty had been the love she had 
given him, haunted him continually. 

She believed herself a widow — this gloriously beautiful 
woman, with her strong, true spirit, and the dauntless 
courage that had led her to face the world and win for 
herself and child a place and a home; with her purity of 
purpose, her queenly presence, her culture and refine- 
ment, which would make her a leader and a power in 
any society where she chose' to mingle. 

What a companion she would be for any man! What 
a helpmeet in every sense of the word! Could she be 
won a second time? 

Such thoughts flashed through his brain every time 
that he came into her presence. He began to dwell upon 
them; they cast a spell over him, which every passing day 
only served to increase. 

To-day he went forward and took both her fair hands 
in his, while his fine face was all aglow, caused by the 
sight of her peerless beauty, and the tidings he had 
brought her. 

‘■'Mrs. Montgomery,” he said, think — I trust that 

I have some news for you this morning.” 


142 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


She started, and a low cry of Joy parted her red lips. 

Good newsV’ she asked in a faint voice. 

Yes 

^‘ Oh! tell me — tell me!^'’ she interrupted, excitedly. 

‘'Sit down and 1 will,^^ he replied, gently, and lead- 
ing her to a low rocker. 

1 “I went to the Palace Hotel first, he continued, and 
searched the list of a week, but without success. Then 
I went to the Baldwin Hotel, which, although not so 
large, is fully as elegant, and there among the names of 
the guests I found that of Mrs. Colonel W. E. Langley 
and — child. 

Cecile was so utterly still and white for a moment 
after this intelligence that he thought she was going to 
faint. He feared he had told her too suddenly. The 
next she startled him with her wonderful self-control. 

She looked up at him, a triumphant light gleaming in 
her fathomless eyes. 

“ I kneio the mother-instinct in my heart could not 
deceive me,^' she said — “I knew that Helen Langley 
had stolen my child. But she little knows me if she 
thought I would sit tamely down and submit to any such 
outrage as this. Does she sujDpose that she will be 
able to keep my Daisy? Ho power on earth can do that. 
Dr. Mortimer, you will take me to the Baldwin Hotel at 
once, she concluded, rising. 

“My dear friend,'" he returned, with an accent of 
self-reproach, “I am afraid I have given you reason to 
hope for too much. Mrs. Langley is not at the hotel 
now — she only remained there one day." 

Cecile sank back again, disheartened, at these words. 

“ Has she left the city?" she asked, tremblingly. 

“1 think not; the clerk said he did not know where 
she had gone, but thought she must be somewhere with- 
in the city limits, as some people called upon her the 
day following her arrival and she went away with them, 
taking her baggage with her. The little girl — yours, I 
am sure, from his description — was well, apparently, but 
cried a good deal." 

Cecile bowed her proud head at this, and sobbed. 


i 


A TRUE ABISTOCRAT. 


143 


‘^Oh, Daisy, my darling, I know yon want mamma!^^ 

The tender mother-love would have its way for 
awhile. 

Then she arose again, lifting her form erect, and 
turning to her companion, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes 
glowing like coals of fire, said: 

Dr. Mortimer, I know that your time is valuable — 
that others want you — need you, perhaps — but my need 
is greater just now; there are other physicians, but I 
have no other friend. Will you give me your time? 
will you help me search for my child until I find her? 
I shall never know one moment of rest until 1 hold her 
clasped in my arms once more.'’^ 

And he, trembling, with the emotion with which her 
words filled him, bent toward her and answered in low, 
intense tones: 

I will do anything in the world for yon.^^ 

His face flushed and his lips parted, as if he were 
about to say something more — something earnest and 
passionate — as if some emotion was about to burst forth 
which he could not control. 

But it was only for a moment. 

With a deep-drawn breath he drew back, then con- 
tinued, in a more quiet tone: 

^^If you only knew the name of the friends whom 
Mrs. Langley came to visit it would help us a great 
deal."’’ 

‘‘ I do not,” Cecile returned, despond ingly. 

Then we must haunt the opera and theater, and 
places of amusement, fashionable shops, drives, and 
promenades. I will accept invitations into society, 
which heretofore I have nearly always refused, and I 
think we must discover some clue to her place of resi- 
dence before very long. Do not be discouraged; I am 
quite hopeful now,” the physician returned, and after 
talking over their plans for awhile longer Cecile also be- 
came more cheerful. 

That evening they attended the California Theater. 

Dr. Mortimer succeeded in obtaining a private box, 
so that Cecile might have an opportunity to watch, un- 


144 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


observed, for the appearance of Mrs. Langley, if she 
sliould be there. 

But she was' not there. 

Cecile sat through the whole play, sweeping witli a 
powerful glass tier after tier of seats, with their occu- 
pants, but without avail. The face she sought was no- 
where to be seen. 

For more than a week they kept up a constant round 
of dissipation, caring nothing, however, for the enter- 
tainment, but eacli with a strong glass, looking, looking 
until their eyes ached and grew nearly blind with the 
constant strain, for that dark, handsome face which they 
never saw. 

During th5 day Dr. Mortimer and his fair but closely- 
vailed companion haunted the fashionable promenades 
and drives; visited all the first-class stores, which shop- 
ping-loving people crowd day after day; crossed and re- 
crossed the bay many times, thinking, perchance, that 
Mrs. Langley’s friends might possibly reside in one of 
the charming surburban cities; but always with the 
same result. 

If Helen Langley and her stolen prize were in the 
city at all they either did not go out or they were so un- 
fortunate as to miss them every time. 

It is a thankless task,” Cecile said, as with a pale, 
tired face and something of the old despair in her tones, 
she returned faint and weary, at the end of a fortnight, 
from one of the theaters to which Dr. Mortimer had 
taken her, and he, nearly as worn and spent as she, 
could only echo her words in his heart, while the fear 
was each day growing stronger that they shouid not 
succeed in the object which they had undertaken. 

‘‘You are tired out; you must rest for a few days,” 
he said, as he removed her shawl and hat, made lier sit 
down, and then brought her a glass of wine to drink. 

Every day she was growing poorer ; every day the 
strain on her nerves was becoming more unbearable, and 
he began to fear that she would break down entirely. 

It was after eleven o’clock when thev had entered Mrs. 
Lawson’s comfortable home that evening, and after striv- 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


145 


ing for a while to cheer her fainting heart, the do'ctor 
hade her a reluctant “good -nigh t,’"* and left her alone. 

As he opened the door leading from her parlor into 
the hall, there came a furious ring at the hall-bell. 

“A call for me, I suppose,'’^ he muttered, with a 
weary breath. 

The night was chill and gloomy, and it seemed as if 
he could not drag his tired frame out again at that late 
hour. But he was faithful to every call ; his great, 
generous, sympathetic heart would not let him refuse to 
go to any one who needed him. 


146 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


CHAPTEE XYIIL 

^^WILL SHE DIE?^^ 

D E. MOETIMEE went slowly down the stairs and 
answered that furious ring himself, for every 
servant was in bed. 

He found a man standing there, who handed him a 
note. 

Bidding the messenger enter, he stepped under the 
hall-lamp to read it. 

It had evidently been very hastily penned, and ran 
thus : 

Dr. Mortimer : — Eeturn at once with the mes- 
senger by whom 1 send this. Do not delay for any- 
thing. Mrs. 0. A. Schermak.^' 

Where does Mrs. Scherman live ? he asked of the 
man who stood waiting. 

Ho/ — Hob Hill, sir,^^ he returned respectfully. 

The doctor raised his eyebrows. Hob Hill was an 
aristocratic quarter of the city, with which, as it hap- 
pened, he had never yet had much to do, although his 
practice was by no means a limited one, and he wondered 
how his fame had crept into that vicinity. 

Hob Hill, however, was a long distance from the quiet 
though respectable street where he resided, and he knew 
it would probably be nearly morning before he would 
be able to return or get any sleep. 

But he saw at once that the call was urgent, and his 
conscience would not allow him to disregard it. 

Did you come in a carriage he asked turning to 
the man. 

‘^Yes, sir; and Mrs. Scherman said you were to re- 


A TBUJSJ ABISTOGBAT, 


147 


turn with me — ^not to wait for your own team to be sent 
for — and Fve got the fastest horse in the stable,” he 
replied. 

Very well. Wait one moment,” Dr. Mortimer said, 
and went quickly to his room for his heavy overcoat and 
medicine-chest. 

In less than five minutes they were flying through the 
nearly deserted streets at an almost break-neck speed. 

Arriving at No. — Nob Hill, the doctor saw at once 
that his mission lay in a very wealthy family, for the 
house into which he was ushered was palatial in all its 
appointments. 

He was -shown directly upstairs into a large, luxuri- 
ous room, where low moans told him that the sufferer 
lay. 

As he entered, a tall, graceful woman, with raven hair 
and eyes, a clear, brunette complexion and delicate, aris- 
tocratic features, came forward to meet him. 

Something like a shock of electricity thrilled him 
through and through as he encountered her splendid 
eyes. 

Mrs. Scherman, I presume,” he said, bowing before 

her. 

^^No, sir; Mrs. Scherman has just stepped into an- 
other room for a moment. I am Mrs. Langley, and I 
have sent for you thus imperatively because I fear my 
little daughter is dangerously ill.” 

Dr. Mortimer knew now what had caused that sudden 
thrill. It was the presentiment or impression that he 
stood on the verge of a discovery. 

Every nerve in his body had tingled wheii she had 
pronounced her name, and it was with difficulty that he 
could prevent a violent start and receive her informa- 
tion with any degree of calmness. 

This, then, was Helen Langley, the cold-hearted, re- 
vengeful sister-in-law of Ceciie Montgomery — the mocker 
of her troubles, the abductor of her child. 

She was a queenly, splendid-looking woman, accus- 
tomed, evidently, to' mingle in the highest social circles, 
and doubtless respected and admired by all who could 


148 


A TRUB AEISTOCEAT. 


not look below the surface and know the treachery of 
her nature; and, as the noble physician gazed upon her 
he could hardly believe it possible that any one so beau- 
tiful could be capable of so much evil. ^ 

‘‘Mamma, mammaP moaned a hoarse little voice 
from behind the curtains of the bed. 

“ Yes, darling,^" Mrs. Langley murmured tenderly, 
and instantly went over to her. 

The child uttered a fretful cry as she parted the dra- 
pery and bent down to her, speaking fond, soothing 
words; then again came that plaintive wail: 

“Mamma, mamma!^^ 

tor. Mortimer, with a very pale face and stem, set lips, 
removed his heavy coat, warmed his hands before the 
fire, which was burning brightly in the polished grate, 
and then went and stood beside the woman who was 
bending with such an anxious face over the little sufferer. 

One glance was sufficient to tell him that the child 
was Daisy, for her mother had brought with her beauti- 
ful pictures of her darling; and even though the little 
facd was now crimson and contracted with pain, the 
Ihimt badly swollen, he recognized her at once; also 
the deep-blue eyes so like Cecile’s own, and the rich 
golden hair. 

His practiced e3-e told him instantly that she was in- 
deed “dangerously ill. 

The little pulse was leaping from the effects of fever, 
her breathing labored, and her throat in a fearful state. 

Mrs. Langley, watching him closely as he made his 
examinations, saw the grave look settle over his face 
and the anxious expression in his 03 es. 

“ What is it, doctor — what is the matter with her?” 

“ Diphtheria,” he answered, briefly. 

“Diphtheria!” exclaimed the now thoroughly alarmed 
woman, growing pale and shivering with fear. 

“Yes, madam, and only the very best of care, the 
closest attention, will save her. I should have been called 
three days ago,” he answered, sternly. 

. Mrs. Langley sank weakly into a chair. 

“What shall I do?” she cried, wringing her slender. 


A AUTSTOCBAr. 


149 


jeweled hands. I know nothing about sickness; I shall 
not know how to take care of her.'’'’ 

‘"Has your child never been ill before?^" he asked, 
shooting a keen glance at her. 

“ No — yes — that is, she has never had any very serious 
illness,” she answered, with confusion, the color leaping 
bi-ightly into her face. 

‘"Mamma, come — come to Daisy!” cried the little 
one, sobbingly. 

""Does she fret much like this?” Dr. Mortimer asked, 
))ending over his small patient to hide the moisture in 
liis eyes caused by that pleading from the little longing, 
aching heart, and wondering how he could ever break 
tlie intelligence of her child’s danger to Cecile. 

As he spoke he laid his cool hand upon the fevered 
forehead, passing it gently back and forth, and for a few 
moments she lay more quiet beneath his touch. 

""Yes,” Mrs. Langley admitted, reluctantly, the red 
growing more vivid in her face, ""she has fretted a good 
deal ever since we left home nearly four weeks ago. My 
place of residence is New York, and we have come to 
(Jalifornia to spend a few mouths with some friends. I 
am afraid, though, that Daisy has been homesick.” 

"" There *is no doubt about it,” the physician said, con- 
fidently. 

How well he knew that the little heart was yearning 
and hungering for home and home faces. 

""How long has she been ailing?” he continued, after 
a moment of silence. 

""For several days; but I thought she had only taken 
a slight cold, from which she would soon recover, and I 
was not alarmed until her throat began to swell so rapid- 
ly a few hours ago, and she was troubled to breathe.” 

“ She ought to have been under treatment three days 
ago,” the doctor again affirmed, with a very grave face. 

"" Will she die?” Helen Langley asked, catching her 
breath quickly. 

""I — /lope not,” he replied, evasively. 

""How long before you can tell? How long will she 
be ill?” she demanded, nervously, and beginning to wish 


150 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


Daisy was safely back in New York in her mother’s care. 

That will depend altogether upon what kind of care 
she receives. She is very sick, but there is a chance for 
her, though even with the best of care it will be some 
time before her recovery will be comple^. If she does 
not have good care the case will terminate fatally, 
probably, in a couple of days.” 

Mrs. Langley regarded him curiously. 

It was rather strange, she thought, that he should 
have so much to say about good care.” 

Of course she must, and will, have the best of care,” 
she said, with dignity. But I must confess chat I feel 
incompetent to do for her what ought to be done, and I 
shrink from the responsibility” — he did not wonder that 
she did under the circumstances — ^^and I must have a 
nurse. Perhaps you know of an efficient one whom you 
can recommend, doctor?” she concluded, regarding him 
with anxiety. 

This was just w'hat he wanted — just what he had been 
working for. 

Daisy now began to moan and toss again. 

He turned to a table and mixed something in a spoon, 
then dropped it betw^een her lips. 

It was painful to see her try to swallow,* her little 
throat was so full and so very sore; but she grew quiet 
again, after awhile, and then Dr. Mortimer turned once 
more to Mrs. Langley. 

She had been watching his every movement with the 
closest attention, and studying his grave, handsome 
face. 

She felt very uncomfortable in his presence; when- 
ever he turned his keen glance upon her she involun- 
tarily shrank from him, yet at the same time she 
experienced the most implicit confidence in his skill. 
There was something self-assuring about him. 

“Yes, madam,” he said; “I think I know some one 
who is just fitted to take charge of this case.” 

“ Some one who will not be afraid of the disease?” 
she asked. 

“ Are you afraid of it, madam?” he demanded, turn- 
ing to look her squarely in the face. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


151 


I must confess that I am somewhat/^ she admitted, 
dropping her eyes beneath the quiet scorn in his glance. 
^‘But of course/^ she added/ ‘^1 should not neglect 
Daisy for one moment on that account. 

“ Of course not/^ he repeated, dryly. Mothers 
never stop to consider themselves when their children 
are in danger. 

Mrs. Langley colored angrily. 

AVhat did this man mean by looking at her in such a 
strange way — by his quiet sarcasm, and the repetition of 
her words, as if they had a double meaning? 

She never dreamed that he could know anything about 
her; and yet, somehow, it seemed to her guilty con- 
science as if he suspected her dark- secret. 

Had she known that this was the friend who had been 
so kind to Cecile in her trouble, she might have thought 
that he had been told of her; but Cecile had not men- 
tioned his name when speaking of him — she had merely 
said a gentleman had assisted her, and, of course, she 
mistrusted nothing. 

No,” she answered, haughtily, mothers do not con- 
sider themselves when their little ones are suffering. 
But — but I think it would be well for you to engage 
this person of whom you have spoken, to assist me in 
the care of the child.” 

will do so with pleasure, madam, if such is your 
command,” Dr. Mortimer returned, politely, but with a 
feeling of exultation in his heart that everything was 
working so well for that anxious mother, whom he had 
left so nearly discouraged but a little while before. 

At least he hoped everything would work well; Daisy 
was very, very sick; but if it was in the power of medi- 
cine or his skill to prevent it, she should not die. 

‘‘ I shall trust entirely to your judgment in this mat- 
ter. Dr. Mortimer,” Mrs. Langley returned. must 
have some one, and being a stranger here, it would not 
be easy for me to choose a suitable nurse for the child; 
while you, of course, know whom you recommend.” 

‘‘Yes, madam,” he replied, meeting her glance 
gravely, “ I tell you candidly and honestly, I know of 


152 


A TJRCr^; AmSTOOJRAT. 


no other so well fitted to take charge of this case as the 
woman of whom I have told you/^ 

^‘Then bring or send her by all means/^ Helen Lang- 
ley said, with a sigh of relief. Will she be at liberty 
— do you suppose she will be willing to come early in 
the morning 

I think so — indeed, I have no doubt she will come 
as early as I wish. '^ * 

‘‘ That is a comfort,^^ heartily ejaculated the unsuspect- 
ing woman, who was wholly unconscious of the fine 
little plot that the worthy physician was concocting 
against her. 

He had resolved the moment he had recognized Daisy 
to manage, in some way, to bring Cecile there to nurse 
her child. He knew that if he could once get her in- 
side the house, and admitted to that sick chamber, the 
rest would be comparatively easy. 

There would doubtless be a scene; he expected it; 
but he cared very little what Mrs. Langley or her friends 
might say or do so that the stolen child was restored to 
its mother. 

It would be one of the best medicines the little one 
could have to wake up and find herself lying in that 
fond embrace; while one of the worst features of her ill- 
ness just now, aside from the dreadful membrane which 
he knew was forming in her throat, was that constant 
fretting and moaning for the sight of that beautiful and 
loving face which was a part of her very life. 

Dr. Mortimer gave very minute directions regarding 
the treatment of his patient until he should come again. 
She was still in an uneasy slumber, caused by the drops 
he had administered, but it seemed as if her fever 
burned fiercer and hotter with every passing moment. 

She must be watched constantly, and her medicines 
faithfully administered, or 1 will not answer for the con- 
sequences,^^ he said, with an anxious parting glance at 
the little sleeper as he turned to go. 

He dreaded to go, lest there should be some neglect, 
and Cecile should, after all, lose the dear one so nearly 
found; but he must go and break the news to her, and 
prepare her for the cask before her. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


153 


‘‘Everything shall be done according to your direc- 
tions, you may rest assured, Mrs. Langley promised. 
“ Mrs. Scherman will share my watch during the re- 
mainder of the night, and as she has had considerable 
experience in sickness, I think you may safely trust us.'’^ 

There was a suspicion of sarcasm in those last words, 
for Mrs. Langley was very much nettled that he should 
treat her in what she considered such a childish manner. 

“ One would suppose from his manner that he thought 
I did not know anything, or that I had no love for the 
child, by the way he charged me about the medicines 
and the care of her. Of course he cannot know that 
Daisy does not belong to me, but I must say he acted 
very queerly,” she mused, as she went back to her post 
by the bed and resumed her weary watching, not once 
suspecting that the waning hours were bringing her to 
disgraceful exposure and retribution. 


154 


A TMUE AEISTOCBAT. 


CHAPTEK XIX. 

THE TEKRIBLE ORDEAL. 

D K. MOETIMEK reached his boarding-place, after 
his visit to Daisy Montgomery, a little after two 
in the morning. 

He paused, as he w^as softly passing Cecile’s door on 
his way to his room, and listened, a tender smile curv- 
ing his fine lips and illuminating his eyes. 

There was no sound within; Cecile, exhausted with 
her ceaseless efforts, was sleeping deeply and dreamlessly. 

My darling, 1 will not wake you, even though I 
long to see those sad eyes once more lighted with hope; 
you will need all the rest yon can get, and my good 
news will keep until morning,” he murmured, and then 
went on to seek the rest which he also so much needed. 

Cecile did not make her appearance until nearly eight 
o^clock the next morning. 

She had wept herself to sleep, and had slumbered so 
heavily in consequence that she did not wake as early as 
usual. 

D.’. Mortimer came in while she sat at breakfast; and 
good Mrs. Lawson, who had nearly exhausted her knowl- 
edge of culinary matters in trying to coax back her 
guesPs failing appetite, complained that she was not 
eating enough to keep a mouse alive. ’ 

The doctor sat down to the table with her, and began 
talking in a cheerful off-hand manner, while every now 
and then he would reach over and deposit a choice bit 
upon her plate, asking her to just taste” of it. Thus 
he managed to get her to eat quite a respectable break- 
fast. 

He followed her into the parlor after the meal was 
over, and, shutting the door behind him, went up to 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


155 


her and took both her hands in his, while he looked 
down into her eyes with a light in his that made her 
tremble. 

“©ecile,” he said, unconsciously using that name for 
the first time in his excitement, can you bear some 
news this morning?’^ 

VVhat?'^ she breathed, her whole being electrified at 
once, while involuntarily her fingers twined themselves 
about his hands in a clinging, eager clasp. 

The clasp, the look, were almost more than he could 
bear, strong man though he was, for every day in her 
presence was serving to show him that his life was 
becoming centered in her — that he loved her with a 
devotion that would either make or mar his whole life. 

She did not seem like the same person who had sat so 
wearily at the breakfast-table ten minutes before. 

Her fair face was all aglow with hope, and looked 
into his with such trustful expectation; her pure breath 
fanned his cheek and her wondrous eyes were lifted 
so eagerly, her red lips just parted with that eager query. 

How beautiful she was! Oh! if he could butl'eej? that 
glad light always in her eyes. 

Good tidings,"^ he answered. 

You have found her — my Daisy !'’'’ she cried, in glad, 
triumphant tones. 

“ Yes — but — he began, when, with an exquisitely 
graceful movement, she interrupted him by bending 
down and touching his hands gratefully with her lips, 
while great glittering tears gathered on her golden lashes 
and rolled over her flushed cheeks. 

Ah, what a friend you have been — what a friend 
you are to me!^^ she said, brokenly. ^MVhere is my 
darling? Tell me and let me go to her at once; my 
heart is so hungry for her — my empty arms ache to 
enfold her.'’^ 

She was trembling with excitement and eagerness, 
and he almost feared to tell her how sick her little one 
was, lest it should unnerve her completely. 

You must bo calm — you will need all your strength 
for what is before you, ’'he said. have something 


156 


A miTE ARtSTOGRAT. 


niipleasant to mingle with my good news. Daisy is 
found, but — she is very sick."’"’ 

With a terrified cry she drew her hands from his, 
clasping them in sudden pain. 

"‘Has she dared to neglect my child, after having 
stolen her from me?'’^ she cried, passionately. “Is she 
so very ill — dangerously so?^"’ 

“Yes, she is dangerously ill, but I do not consider 
her case a hopeless one now, since you will go to her and 
care for her,"’"’ Dr. Mortimer said, thinking it best to tell 
her the w’orst at once. 

Her face grew suddenly white as chiseled marble, and 
stern like a Nemesis. 

“ If my child dies, let Helen Langley beware of a 
despairing and outraged mother’s vengeance!” she said, 
in cold, relentless tones. 

Dr. Mortimer made her sit dowm; she was shaking as 
with the ague, and he realized, as he had not done be- 
fore, how the anxiety of the last few weeks had worn 
upon her; she betrayed it in this nervous excitability 
which was not natural to her. 

“This will not do!” he said, decidedly. “You are 
unfitting yourself for what is before you, and unless you 
can calm yourself I shall not dare to take you to Daisy. 
You are her mother, and better calculated to take care 
of her than any one else; but you would do her more 
harm than good in your present state; and she needs 
you sadly; she calls for ‘ mamma, mamma,’ almost 
constantly.” 

She looked up at him beseechingly for a moment, then 
she turned away, and hid her face upon the arm of the 
sofa, and wept violently. 

The picture of her child, ill, sufferirf^, among entire 
strangers, calling for her continually, missing the tender 
care and love from which she had been so cruelly torn, 
rent her heart in twain, and made her sob like a child. 

She knew how she had suffered herself, and if Daisy 
had endured one-half as much, it was no wonder that 
she was sick. 

It was the first time that she had ever given way to 


A TBITB AmSTOOBAT. 


157 


her feelings like this before Dr. Mortimer ; she had been 
brave and strong outwardly, only her pale face and hope- 
less eyes telling him day by day what she was suffering 
in her mind. 

He thought it best to let her tears have their course, 
and sat perfectly still by her side until her weeping 
ceased. 

We know that Cecile Montgomery was anything but a 
weak woman; but exhausted humanity, like richly-laden 
grain, will sometimes bend beneath the fierce storms 
which sweep over it, and even rise refreshed and 
strengthened afterward. 

“ There!’"’ she said, at length, sitting up, and wiping 
the tears from her flushed cheeks, while she tried to 
smile at her own weakness; I believe the atmosphere 
will be clearer for this shower. The clouds which over- 
shadowed me were so heavy that they /lad to burst. 
Now, Dr. Mortimer, I am ready for anything; 1 will 
betray no more folly like this, and you are very kind to 
bear with me so patiently. Tell me about Daisy as 
quickly as you can, and then take me to her; you know 
I cannot wait long now.” 

In as few words as possible he told' her of his midnight 
call and visit to Nob Hill, his instant recognition of 
Daisy, his interview with Mrs. Langley, and his proposi- 
tion to supply a nurse for the child. 

am going to take you directly there this morning,” 
he said in conclusion; and once inside that house, you 
will have no difficulty in claiming your little one, and 
asserting your right ta care for her.” 

That was a ve’ clever thought,” Cecile answered. 
^^But, oh. Dr. M--^ tmer, is she really so very ill? Can’t 
you save her for 

“"I must tell ■’you the truth,” he replied soberly. 

She is very dangerously ill; but if we can pacify her— 
if she should recognize you and stop grieving for you, it 
will be a great point gained.” 

My poor darling! how she must have missed her 
mother !” Cecile murmered, with quivering lips. 
^'What is her disease?” 


158 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


Dr. Mortimer, had been dreading this question, but 
he answered briefly: 

Diphtheria/^ 

‘^Diphtherial she repeated, aghast, and with blanch- 
ing cheei;s, even as Mrs. Langley had done; but there 
was no thought of self in her fear. 

“Are you afraid of it?'’^ he asked, to test her, as he 
had done that other woman a few hours before. 

“Afraid of itP^ she repeated. “ISTot for myself, but 
for her. Oh ! I should have more hope of- rescuing her 
from the jaws of some ferocious animal than from that 
dread disease. 

For a moment it seemed as if she must yield beneath 
this crusliing blow; but the next she arose calm and 
strorg, though with the face of a statue. 

“Dr. Mortimer, I will be ready to go with you in ten 
minutes,” she said, and left the room without another 
word. 

She was back again in less than that time, equipped 
for her ride, and carrying a satchel in her hand contain- 
ing a few necessary articles, and some of Daisy ^s cloth- 
ing'. Her belief that she should find her had been so 
strong that she had directed Martha to pack several 
changes. 

She could not talk much during her drive, for her 
heart was too heavy and anxious, and a deep-drawn sigh 
of relief escaped her when at length the carriage stopped 
before that elegant mansion on Nob Hill. 

Before alighting she drew her vail close about her 
face, to conceal, if possible, her^j^’eatures, and prevent 
Helen Langley from recognizing ^o^r, at least until she 
could get to Daisy; then she would i t care for an army 
of women like her. 

They were led directly to the sick-room, where they 
were courteously received by Mrk Scherman, a lovely, 
gentle-appearing woman, who told them she feared that 
the child was worse, as her breathing was more labored, 
and her little throat so filled up that it was almost im- 
possible for her to swallow. 

She glanced with surprise at Dr. Mortimer’s stately 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


159 


companion, with her pale but calm and beautiful 
face. 

‘‘ She does not look like a nurse,” she thought, glanc- 
ing at her white, delicate hands; but Dr. Mortimer's 
next words 'set her at rest upon that point, at least for 
the time. 

‘^This is the nurse of whom I spoke to Mrs. Langley 
last night,” he said, purposely avoiding an introduction 
just then. 

‘‘I am glad she has come,” Mrs. Scherman returned, 
with a look of relief, as she bowed to Cecile; then she 
added: 

‘^Mrs. Langley went to lie down an hunr ago, and if 
you do not mind I will not call her just yet. She was 
quite worn out with watching and anxiety.” 

She might truthfully have added that she also was 
worn out, for she had shared all Mrs. Langley's watch, 
and had assumed nearly the whole care of Daisy, seeing 
how inefficient and frightened her friend was. 

^‘1 do not mind,” Cecile said, with shaking lips, and 
an agonized glance toward the bed, as with ^trembling 
fingers she quickly removed her cloak and hat. 

Then, with swift but noiseless steps, she glided to the 
side of Dr. Mortimer, who, with a troubled, anxious 
face, was bending over her child, his fingers on her 
pulse, his eyes on her crimson face. 

You will not let her die/^ Cecile whispered, almost 
fiercely, while it seemed as if her tortured heart would 
burst to see her darling lying there in that dreadful 
state. 

She saw at once that she was fearfully ill, but she 
dare make no sign^pf her own misery lest she should dis- 
turb the sufferer, lose her self-control, and become un- 
fitted for the duties which lay before her. 

Dr. Mortimer gave her a sympathizing look, and yet 
he could not conscientiously speak one word of hope, for 
he knew by Daisy's breathing that it was doubtful if that 
fatal membrane would ever yield to the power of medi- 
cines; if it would not, she must die. 

While they stood there together, Mrs. Scherman watch- 


160 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


ing the beantifnl nurse v/ith a sort of fascination — she 
thought for an entire stranger she was conducting lier- 
self very queerly — Daisy began to arouse from the sleep, 
or half stupor into which she had fallen. 

The little parched lips framed the words mamma, 
mamma, but the condition of her throat would permit 
no intelligible sound to issue from them. 

Cecile's heart stood still in this supreme moment, the 
agony in her face so intense that Dr. Mortimer had to 
turn away from the sight of it lest his own self-control 
should forsake him. 

The child’s eyes fell upon the physician first, then 
slowly turned and rested upon the figure standing so 
motionless by his side. 

A look of startled wonder came into them for a mo- 
ment, while Oecile held her breath, fearing the result, 
yet praying in a sort of internal frenzy fgr one look of 
recognition from her dying darling. 

The next instant a wild, piercing scream rang through 
the apartment, the little white-robed figure sprang into 
the air, and Daisy was clasped in her mother’s arms, sob- 
bing and clinging to her wich all the strength that re- 
mained in her frail body. 

Dr. Mortimer looked greatly alarmed at this unex- 
pected proceeding, while Oecile, though she folded her 
darling close to her breast in a loving embrace, murmur- 
ing low, fond, soothing words in her ear, striving to 
calm this sudden and terrible excitement, was herself so 
weak and trembling that it required the greatest effort 
to keep from sinking to the floor. 

Mrs. Scherman came quickly forward to inquire the 
meaning of the strange scene; but there was no time for 
explanations then, for confusion reigned during the next 
few minutes, and intensest anxiety for that precious little 
life filled every lieart. 

Daisy’s sobbing was suddenly tuimed to choking and 
strangling, until she grew fairly black in the face, and 
they thought she would die then and there. This was 
followed by violent nausea, frightening both Mrs. Scher- 
man and Oecile almost beyond power of action; but the 


A Tun'll AmSTOCBAT. 


' 161 


terrible ordeal was over at last, and as Dr. Mortimer set 
back upon the table the bowl which he had held he mur- 
mured a low, reverent Thank God!"’ 

. The dreadful membrane, which he had been so sure 
would cause death in a very short time, was there — that 
scream, that S2)ring, the choking and nausea all com- 
bined, had expelled it; it could obstruct her breathing 
no more, its poisonous properties could no longer be ab- 
sorbed into her system, and though he knew she was not 
out of danger, by any means, yet there was very much 
more of hope for her than there had been. 

Mamma — mamma,” contentedly murmured the little 
one, as half an hour later she lay weak, exhausted, but 
quiet, and breathing easily, in Cecile’s arms, an almost 
ecstatic look fixed upon her face. 

Cecile’s smile was heavenly, her deep, blue eyes al- 
most holy in their expression of answering love. 

She began to rock back and forth in the low chair in 
which she was sitting, and to sing some soft, familiar 
lullaby, and soon those golden-frihged lids, which she 
was watching, began to droop, the bright head lay still 
upon her bosom, the little limbs relaxed, and Daisy 
slept quietly, peacefully, restfully. 


162 


A ABISTOCBAT, 


CHAPTEE XX. 

SWEET AND COMFORTING WORDS. 

W HAT does all this mean?^^ Mrs. Scherman asked 
of Dr. Mortimer, whom she drew one side when 
she saw that his patient was resting and did not need 
him. 

She had been impressed the instant she saw Cecile 
that something was wrong, or very strange about her 
presence there. 

She was convinced, after the first glance, that that 
beautiful, refined-looking woman was no ordinary nurse, 
while, too, something in her features struck her as be- 
ing familiar, although at that moment she did not con- 
nect that circumstance with Daisy. 

She had wondered at the young mother’s white, set 
‘ face; she had remarked her trembling hands as she re- 
moved her hat and cloak, and had seen the emotion 
which she could not entirely control, as she bent over 
her sleeping child. 

Surely, no nurse that she had ever seen had exhibited 
such an intense interest in her patient as this! 

Daisy’s spring and scream had frightened her nearly 
to death; although she had not a suspicion of its cause. 

All through the latter part of the night she had 
been growing visibly worse, and she was continually 
fearing that she would choke and die, and she believed 
the final struggle had really come, when she heard that 
startling cry. 

But, although the whole scene had been painful in 
the extreme to those who were so anxiously watching 
her, it proved to be tlie salvation of the little one. 

That sudden scream and spring had dislodged the 
membrane which had formed in her throat — the strang- 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


163 


ling and vomiting had expelled it, and when she at 
length grew easy and dropped asleep, they felt assured 
that the worst was over. 

Cecile’s looks of love and anxiety, and the child’s con- 
tented cooing — instead of that plaintive wail — ‘‘mamma, 
mamma,” were puzzles which Mrs. Scherman could not 
solve, hence her question to Dr. Mortimer. 

“ It means, madam,” he said, a stern look settling 
over his fine face, “that there has been a great wrong 
done. That child yonder does not belong to Mrs. Lang- 
ley, as you have been led to believe; she was stolen a 
few weeks ago from the woman who holds her now, and 
who, nearly distracted, has been seeking for her ever since 
the dastardly deed was committed.” 

Mrs. Scherman looked startled — shocked at the infor- 
mation. 

“There must be some mistake — you must have been 
misinformed,” she said, regarding him with perplexity. 

“ Can you look upon that fair woman’s face and.doubt 
the truth of what I have told you ?” Dr. Mortimer de- 
manded, and pointing to Oecile who sat ^vatching her 
sleeping child with such an expression of absorbing love 
that the tears involuntarily sprang to the lady’s eyes. 

“ But I do not understand,” she answered, unable even 
yet to comprehend. “ Who stole her?” 

“ The woman who calls herself your friend — Mrs. 
Langley.” 

“It cannot be possible — I will not believe any such 
thing of her,” she indignantly returned. 

Dr. Mortimer bowed politely, although his face flushe 
at having his truthfulness thus assailed. 

Mrs. Scherman was every inf h a lady, and she in- 
stantly saw that she had been guilty of rudeness. 

“ I beg your pardon,” she said quickly, and also hush- 
ing. “ I should not have spoken so decidedly, but I am 
deeply hurt to have my friend charged with anything so 
horrible. I knew that the child was not her own, but 
one whom she had adopted.” 

“Yes, but forcibly adopted,” briefly replied her com- 
panion. 


164 


A TRUJE ABISTOCBAT. 


Would you please explain yourself. Dr. Mortimer 
Mrs. Scherman sajd with great dignity, while she deeply 
regretted at that moment having sent for him the night 
previous. 

Her own physician was absent on a trip East, but she 
had asked him before he left whom she should employ 
in case a member of her family should be taken seriously 
ill while he was away. He had recommended Dr. Mor- 
timer, giving her his address, and speaking in the highest 
terms of his skill and judgment, and thus it had hap- 
pened that he had been summoned to attend the very 
child whom he was searching for. 

^‘'Certainly, madam,^^ he answered, with equal stiff- 
ness, something of the bitterness which he experienced 
for Helen Langley extending to her friend; and then in 
a few rapidly-spoken sentences he told her the story of 
Cecile^s life. 

He told her of Mrs. Langley^s opposition to the mar- 
riage, her abuse both before and after that event, her 
threat to be revenged, her refusal to aid her at the time 
of her return from abroad under such trying circum- 
stances, how she had faced and conquered her fate, and 
finally of Mrs. Langley's offer to adopt her child, upon 
the refusal of which she had kidnapped her. 

It was an exciting, romantic story, almost too wild for 
her to credit. Mrs. Scherman and Mrs. Langley had 
be6n intimate friends for years, and she may be forgiven 
the somewhat suspicious glance which she shot at Cecile 
upon its conclusion. 

y It seems incredible," she said, coldly. Of course 
this is Mrs. Montgomery's version of the story, and 
therefore I feel obliged to reserve my verdict until I can 
learn Mrs. Langley's defense." 

You are perfectly right in so doing," Dr. Mortimer 
answered, with great politeness. ‘^But what I have 
told you, madam, is not wholly Mrs. Montgomery's 
version, as you suppose, for I returned on the same 
steamer from Europe with her. I knew of her great 
trouble then, and assisted her by every way in my power, 
and I can take my oath that the child your friend claims 
to have ^adopted'’ is her very own." 


A Tuiru AmSTOOBAT. 


165 


He took, as he ceased speaking, a photograph from 
his pocket, and handed it to her. 

It was a picture of Daisy, taken only a few months 
before, which Cecile had brought with her, and which 
he had carried with him ever since, hoping by it to 
identify the child. 

Where did you get this?^'’ Mrs. Scherman asked in 
great surprise, recognizing it instantly. 

‘^Her mother brought it to assist in the search for 
her.^’ 

How long has she been in San Francisco?’"’ Mrs. 
Scherman asked, glancing over at the young mother, 
and now understanding why her features^ had been 
familiar to her, for the child resembled her. 

fortnight and a day or two. She learned that 
Mrs. Langely left for California the very day that her 
child disappeared, and became possessed with the idea 
that s/ie had taken her. She telegraphed to me the day 
she left, claiming the fulfillment of the promise I had 
previously made her to help her at any time and under 
any circumstances. I met her when she arrived, but 
felt as if she had come upon a fruitless errand when 
she told me the object of her journey; but day and 
night ever since we have searched untiringly, seeking to 
discover Mrs. Langley’s whereabouts, and to me it seems 
like the intervention of Providence that I should have 
been summoned here last night. 

I recognized the child instantly,” Dr. Mortimer went 
on, after a moment's thought, determined to reveal 
everything, ^“^and my indignation against that heartless 
woman nearly made me betray my interest in her. She 
wanted a nurse, and it fiashed upon me that it was just 
the opportunity which Mrs. Montgomery needed to im- 
prove; consequently I brought her here this morning. 
These, madam, are the main facts in the case, and when 
you have learned your friend’s version, you will, of 
course, be governed by your own conviction regarding 
the matter. But whatever they may bej I shall feel it 
my duty to protect Mrs. Montgomery from further 
annoyance and abuse on the part of Mrs. Langley, and 


166 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


see that her rights as the parent of that child are main- 
tained/'’ And not caring to prolong the conversation 
any further, he made his bow and went quietly to 
Cecile’s side. 

She looked at him with a grateful smile. 

^"She is better. She how quietly she is sleeping/^ 
she whispered, while she toyed, with a loving hand, 
with a glossy ringlet that lay on her arm. 

‘^Yes, I believe she is really better,'’^ he answered, 
thinking how like the face of an angel hers was, lighted 
with that wondrous mother-love. 

At this moment Mrs. Langley entered, with much 
rustling of silken robes and stiffly-starched skirts. 

He turned to speak to her, while Cecile quietly arose, 
laid Daisy gently down upon the bed, covering her 
lightly with the soft blanket, then faced about to con- 
front her enemy, bracing herself for the encounter, 
which her heart told her would be. a severe one. 

Helen was asking Dr. Montgomery how he found his 
patient, and if he had succeeded in securing a nurse. 

Cecile was standing directly behind him, and his large, 
tall form hid her completely from Mrs. Langley^s obser- 
vation, while Mrs. Scherman, from her position at one 
side of the room, was watching the trio with no ordinary 
interest. 

My patient, I think, is better this morning,^'’ Dr. 
Mortimer said, and, Mrs. Langley,'’'’ he added, stepping 
a little to one side, ^^this is the nurse whom I have 
brought to take care of her.''’ 

The two women, both so strikingly beautiful, yet so 
unlike, stood confronting each other, and neither spoke 
for the space of a full minute. 

Mrs. Langley grew deadly white with anger, astonish- 
ment and chagrin; then all the passion of her fiery na- 
ture blazed forth, while she wondered how on earth Cecile 
had ever traced her there. 

Your sh^ cried fiercely, and lifting her clenched 
hand as if she would have struck her, while Cecile stood 
calm and unruffled before her, awaiting the, course of 
events. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


167 


She was mistress of the field now, and she cared for no 
one. 

There is no one so well calculated to nurse a child 
as its own mother/'’ she said quietly, but she looked like 
some fair young queen as she spoke. 

What do you mean?^^ the enraged woman cried, de- 
termined to face her down, if possible. Dr. Morti-^ 
mer,'’'’ turning to him with flashing eyes, will not 
have this person to nurse my child. I object to her — 
you can take her away at once.'’’ 

‘^But, madam, you told me you should rely wholly 
upon my judgment, and I have brought Mrs. Mont- 
gomery to nurse Daisy Montgomery, and she will re- 
main,'^ he concluded, with decision. 

She shall not — you go?’'’ Helen demanded, going 
nearer to Cecile, while she trembled violently. 

No, I shall not go, and you cannot come any nearer 
my child. Stand back, Mrs. Langley.'” 

There was no mistaking the meaning of these Words, 
low as they were spoken, and involuntarily Helen Lang- 
ley recoiled from tlie fire that was blazing at her from 
those wonderful blue eyes. 

Mrs. Scherman now came forward. 

Helen,"” she said gravely, what is this that I hear? 
Dr. Mortimer has been telling me a strange story. He 
says this lady is Mrs. Montgomery, your brother’s wife — 
that Daisy is child, and that you stole her from her 
after %he had refused to allow you to adopt her. Now, 
tell me the truth of the matter, if you please.” 

Pshaw! Fanny. I do not doubt they have been fill- 
ing your ears with some miserable story about me,” Mrs. 
Langley tried to say indifferently. ^Ht is true that my 
brother married that woman, and found, all too late, 
what an irreparable mistake he had made. After they 
had been abroad a year, for some reason best known to 
himself, he left her, and she returned to this country 
with her child. I insisted upon adopting her, as the 
person best fitted to bring her up, and that is how I 
came to take her. Just think what a life she would lead 
reared in poverty, and by a woman whom her husband 
had deserted/^ 


168 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


‘‘1 thought you said your brother was dead, Helen, 
Mrs. Scherman said, regarding her with a strange look. 

And so I believe he is now, for we have made every 
effort to find him; but two hours before she sailed, 
pointing to Cecile, he was alive and well, as she will 
tell you herself.^'’ 

When did you adopt the child Mrs. Scherman 
asked. 

A little while before coming here,^^ Mrs. Langley 
returned evasively, but with a guilty flush, while Cecile's 
beautiful lips curled with scorn at the quibble. 

Hoiu did you take her, Helen — did her mother give 
her to you willingly 

Mrs. Langley turned upon her friend with assumed 
indignation at this query. 

■* I did not suppose I had come before a tribunal 
when I came in here just now,"*^ she said, angrily; ^^but, 
Fanny, one thing is certain: she,” indicating Cecile with 
a motion of her head, cannot remain here to nurse 
Daisy. I object to it decidedly. I will not stay in the 
same house with her a single hour. ” 

Cecile now advanced a step or two, for Mrs. Langley 
during the last few moments had been edging toward 
the door, as if ^nxious to make her escape from this 
unpleasant inquisition — and stood facing her, her slen- 
der form drawn to its fullest height. 

She spoke very low for fear of disturbing Dai^, but 
her words were clear and decisive. 

Mrs. Langley,” she said, ‘^^it is immaterial to me 
whether you remain in the house with me or not; but 
no power on earth shall separate me from my child 
again, now that I have found her; she is mine, and you 
know it, by every law, both human and divine; and if 
you persist in claiming her and keeping her from me, I 
will at once have you arrested for your criipe and put 
where you can do me no further injury. It will be 
best for you to let me alone after this; I tell you frankly 
that I am a desperate woman this morning, for the life 
of my child is at stake, and I have borne all that I ever 


A TRUH ABISTOCBAT. 


169 


^^Yon call yourself a respectable woman,” she went 
on, with stinging sarcasm; ‘‘you claim to occupy a posi- 
tion among the highest people of our country, you boast 
of the nobility of your race and name, your ‘aristocratic 
hirthf and yet you would stoop to rob a woman of her 
only treasure, her only comfort; you kidnapped a little 
child, tore it almost from its mother^s arms, regardless 
of her sufferings in being thus deprived of the tender 
care to which she had always been accustomed, and 
of the misery you were leaving behind; I wonder that 
her grieving, her moaning and pleading for me, did not 
drive you wild.” 

(And it had, if she could but have known it; many 
a night had been made horrible to her, for Daisy not 
only sobbed herself to sleep, but kept it up in her 
dreams, often starting up with a wild scream and calling 
piteously for the mother whom she loved so well.) 

“ Dr. Mortimer,” Cecile demanded, suddenly turning 
to him, as if a new thought had occurred to her, “would 
it be possible — would it do, under any circumstances, to 
remove Daisy from here to-day?” 

“ No,” he said, decidedly, “ it could not be thought 
of for a moment; if she should continue to improve, it 
might do to move her a couple of days hence, by exer- 
cising great care.” 

Cecile sighed; then she turned to Mrs. Scherman 
with an appealing gesture, and a world of pathos in both 
face and voice. 

“Mrs. Scherman,” she said, “you are a mother, for 
I heard childish voices as I came up the stairs — must I 
plead in vain to be allowed to remain in your house for 
a few days to take care of my child?” 

“ Most certainly not, Mrs. Montgomery,” she re- 
turned, a choking sensation in her throat rendering it 
difficult for her to speak, as she looked into those lovely, 
imploring eyes. “You must remain with her; no other 
could do for her as you can; and even if your physician 
should consent, I could not, that 3^11 should risk her 
life by taking her away. My servants, my honse, and 
anything that I have are }^ours to command as long as 
you may need them.” 


170 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


Cecile went over to her and clasped her hand grate- 
fully. 

I thank you/^ she said, simply, but with dewy eyes. 

Then unable to say more, she returned to her post at 
the bedside and sat down to watch her child. 

She had fought her battle — she had won, and Helen 
Langley was no more to her now than if she had not 
existed. 

The position which Mrs. Scherman had assumed sur- 
prised Dr. Mortimer somewhat. From her previous dig- 
nity and coldness to him he had expected to be obliged 
to argue the question of Cecile’s being allowed to remain 
with Daisy, but he saw now that he had not done her 
justice. She was a noble woman at heart, and when she 
comprehended the wrong that had been done she was 
eager to do all in her power to help the right to conquer. 

Her hearty acquiescence in Cecile^s request, however, 
drove Mrs. Langley into a raging passion, and she 
flounced angrily from the room. 

Dr. Mortimer then went to Cecile and gave her his 
directions for the day. 

will drop in again during the afternoon, and I 
know I do not need to charge you to be very watchful,^'’ 
he said, smiling in her face, which was fast losing its 
tense lines of agony, although still anxious and worn. 

He shook hands with Mrs. Scherman in a hearty 
fashion, and then went away, feeling quite content over 
that morning's work and its promise for the future. 

As he closed the door after him, Mrs. Scherman 
glided softly to Oecile's side, laid her hand gently upon 
her shoulder, and bending down kissed her. 

How you must have suffered!" she said, tearfully. 

I think I should die if anybody should take one of my 
darlings from me. I have three, too, and you have had 
only one. Dear Mrs. Montgomery, I will do all in my 
power to help you save your precious little girl." 

It was very sweet and comforting to hear these kind 
words afi;er all her sorrow and pain, and they nearly un- 
nerved our brave heroine. 

For one moment she leaned her golden head against 


A TBiri: ABIjSTOCHAT. 


171 


Mrs. Sclierman^s shoulder, and let the diamond drops 
have their way; ther, with a look which her companion 
never forgot, she touched her lips to the hand that rested 
on her, murmuring: 

, ^^God bless you! I shall always love you for this.^^ 
Then Mrs. Scherman also went softly out, and Cecilo 
was left alone with her recovered treasure. 


172 


A TRUE ARISTOCUAi: 


CHAPTER XXL 

THE DAWN OF RETRIBUTION. 

M rs. SCHERMAX, on leaving Oecile, went di- 
rectly to Mrs. Langley^’s room, her heart burning 
with indignation against the woman whom, until that 
moment, she had loved and trusted as her dearest friend. 

‘^How could you do it, Helen she asked, reproach- 
fully, after she had extorted from her something more of 
the circumstances of Daisy^s abduction. 

^‘1 think there is no need of discussing that question 
any further, she answered, curtly. ‘‘What I did was 
done for the good of the child, and I feel perfectly justi- 
fied in the course Avhich I pursued. I could not endure 
the thought that a Montgomery should be reared in pov- 
erty, and she would be a great deal better otf in my care. 
Think of the advantages that I could give her. I have 
no children of my own, and I could lavish every luxury 
upon '’her. But I did not think she would ever suspect 
me of having taken her, or that she would be able to 
trace me here if she did,^^ Mrs. Langley concluded, with 
an injured air. 

Mrs. Scherman shuddered and wondered how she 
could ever have been so deceived in the character of the 
woman before her. 

“ I think I should hate any one Avho would even pro- 
pose to take one of my children from me, and how much 
more to rob me of one of them. A mother’s love for her 
children is the most sacred tiling on earth, Helen, and 
what a crime it is to violate it!” she said, almost sternly. 

“It will do very well for you to talk thus, for you 
have plenty of means, and can give your children every- 
thing they need; but it is different in this. case. Cecile 
Montgomery could never bring up Daisy as my broth- 
er's child should be reared and educated, for she has to 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


173 


earn every penny with her own hands/' Mrs. Langley re- 
torted, arrogantly, and forgetting who had been the 
cause of all Cecile's poverty and her need to toil. 

^^Yes, Dr. Mortimer has told me something of her 
struggles, and her noble conquest over adversity. But 
surely, this should not have been; your brother was very 
wealthy, and his child is entitled to her father's prop- 
erty!" Mrs. Scherman replied, with a searching look into 
Mrs. Langley's face. 

“'Of course she is entitled to it, and will have it when 
she reaches a prosper age," Helen returned, with a guilty 
flush. 

“Who has charge of his property? Who is Daisy's 
guardian ?" 

“My husband has charge of his business, and no one 
has been appointed guardian, for we have no actual 
proof of his death." 

• “But of course there must be ' ‘ 



from his estate — what becomes 


man demanded. 

She was determined to get at the bottom of the mat- 
ter. She felt that she had a right, after what had oc- 
curred, to know something of the circumstances. 

“It is added to the principal, I suppose," Helen said, 
reluctantly, and with averted glance. 

Mrs. Scherman's dark eyes flashed with scorn and in- 
dignation. 

“And do you not consider that Mrs. Montgomery is 
entitled to a portion of that income to help her rear her 
child in a proper manner? Can it be possible that you 
have allowed that frail, beautiful woii^n to struggle on 
year after year, unaided, to support herself and the little 
one, for whom you profess to feel so much affection — 
keeping from her the means that rightfully belong to 
her? Would your brother uphold you in any such 
heartless proceeding? Helen, I fear I have been greatly 
deceived in your character. I am shocked and grieved 
beyond expression by what I have learned to-day, and I 
tell you plainly, that my deepest sympathies are with 
tW pcfor, wronged woman upstairs." 


174 


A TBUB AmSTOCI^AT. 


She had spoken with deep feeling, and her noble face 
glowed with lively compassion and emotion. 

Very well, let her keep them, then. I shall not pre- 
sume to interfere, and I suppose I. am to understand, 
from what you have said, that f/n‘s is to be the end of 
our friendship,^'’ Mrs. Langley said, bitterly, and rising 
as she spoke. 

■ “ I cannot tell you how sorry I am that anything of 
this nature should have occurred to interrupt it,'’'’ Mrs. 
Scherman said, gently and regretfully, while tears filled 
her eyes, ^‘'but I cannot uphold you, Helen, in the great 
wrong that you have done, and I am obliged to confess 
that my regard for you has suffered very materially on 
account of it; it could only be restored by a proper 
acknowledgment and restitution on your part, and by a 
full and complete reconciliation between you and your 
brother’s wife, or as full as might be possible after all 
that she has suffered through you. She is a noble 
woman — a grand woman, Helen! Few could ever have' 
battled so bravely and fearlessly against so many oppos- 
ing forces as she has done.’'’ 

You are pleased to be enthusiastic over my brother’s 
wife with her pretty face and artful eyes, Mrs. Scherman. 
I think it will be best for me to retire without further 
parley, and leave her victor in the field,” was the angry 
retort of the baffled woman, and she proceeded to put 
her threat into exedhtion at once, and a few hours later 
her trunks were packed and she took a formal leave of 
her early friend and repaired to the Palace Hotel, where 
she intended to remain a few days — or until she should 
learn that Daisy w^ in a fair way to recover. 

Cold and heartWs as she naturally was, she had been 
terribly frightened by the child’s illness. It seeriied to 
her, when Dr. Mortimer had told her that she had diph- 
theria, as if the knell of doom had been sounded for her, 
and she would be the cause of her death. 

Daisy had fretted and annoyed her exceedingly by her 
continual grieving for her mother, and. she had upon 
several occasions angrily chastised her. During the 
night before she had taken cold, she awoke about mid- 


A TJiUB ABISTOCBAT. 


175 


night pid began to cry bitterly for the dear one whom 
she missed so much, and Mrs. Langley, her patience 
entirely exhausted, bad lifted her out of bed to the floor, 
telling her she must stand there in the dark until she 
ceased crying. 

The little one, frightened nearly to death by such 
harsh measures, sank in a heap upon the carpet, sobbing 
as if her heart would break; and Mrs. Langley, too sleepy 
to realize the danger of leaving her long there, turned 
over and dropped almost immediately into a sound slum- 
ber. When slie awoke an hour later, she was startled to 
And that Daisy, exhausted with her grief, had fallen 
asleep on the floor. 

She sprang up and took her into bed, holding her in 
her arms and trying to warm her chilled little body 
against her own; but the mischief was done, and she 
knew now that if she died s/ie would be her murderess. 

And with this fact so heavy on her conscience, it is no 
wonder that she could not leave San Francisco until she 
knew that Daisy was out of danger. 

Besides this, she began to have a suspicion of Dr. 
Mortimer’s feelings regarding Cecile. She had seen his 
tender, solicitous look whenever his eyes rested upon her, 
and she had remarked the glance of admiration with 
which he had regarded her when she stood so boldly up 
and confronted her, defying her and warning her to let 
hev alone henceforth, and she had some curiosity to know 
how the affair would terminate. 

Daisy slept most of the day after that stormy scene, 
only arousing now and then to take the nourishment 
they gave her, looking up into that fpnd face bending- 
over her with such a grateful, satisfled look, and then 
dropping contentedly off to sleep again. 

She was really better, for a gentle perspiration had re- 
placed the burning fever, her breathing continued easy, 
and her throat did not appear to be so painful; and now 
that that poisonous membrane had been expelled, there 
was a reasonable hope that she would recover. 

"^She will be weak and delicate for a long time,” Dr. 
Mortimer said when he came again that afternoon, ^^but 


176 


A TI^VjS; AmSTOOHAT. 


with the care that ^ou will give her^ a good nourishing 
diet, and her naturally vigorous constitution, I feel safe 
in saying that she will get well,^^and Oecile’s eyes looked 
the gratitude which her lips could not utter. 

Four days later his little patient had improved so 
much, he said he thought there would be no danger in 
removing her to Mrs. Lawson^s house, and this Cecile 
w^as anxious to do, as she did not feel comfortable to in- 
trude longer upon Mrs. Scherman, notwithstanding her 
unceasing kindness and attention to her, and her efforts 
to make the obligation as light as possible. 

She even begged her to remain another week, or until 
Daisy was able to sit up, assuring her that it was a pleas- 
ure to her to have them there. 

But Cecile preferred to go, and on a bright, warm 
day they arranged a little cot for Daisy, and moved her 
in a close carriage from that luxurious mansion on ISob 
Hill to Mrs. Lawson^s less pretentious but equally as 
pleasant dwelling. 

I shall either come or send to inquire for this dar- 
ling every day,^^ Mrs. Scherman said, bending down to 
kiss the little pale face as they were carrying the child 
out, ‘■^and,^^ she continued, smiling, as she took Cecile 
warmly by the hand, I shall always consider that I 
have something of a claim upon your friendship after 
this, Mrs. Montgomery. I 2im proud to have made your 
acquaintance.^^ 

Cecile was deeply touched by her words, and went 
away breathing blessings upon the noble-hearted woman 
who had espoused her causd so heartily, and had spared 
nothing for her or Daisy's comfort during their sojourn 
with her. 

But grief came to the object of their anxious care, 
notwithstanding all their efforts to shield her from ex- 
posure or fatigue. She took cold and was threatened 
with a relapse of the terrible disease, and another season 
of weary w^atching and anxiety followed. , ‘ 

Mrs. Langley had sent to inquire for her every day 
while she remained at Mrs. Scherman's, and always re- 
ceived some kind message in return from that lad}", and 


A TBlTi: AmSTOOJ^Ar. 


177 


after she was removed, and ^e learned of the serious 
illness which followed, she became tenfold more anxious 
than before. 

Had she dared to do so, sTie would have forced her 
way into the sick-room and taken up her post beside the 
child, Yor the little one^s beauty had completely won her 
heart, and she was more anxious over her danger than 
she had ever been over anything in her life before. But 
she had not courage to’ face that outraged mother again, 
and was therefore obliged to content herself by haunting 
the vicinity of the house, riding by many times in the 
day, and always stopping to inquire once. 

The third evening after Daisy'^s removal she drove 
slowly by, looking up longingly at the windows of the 
room which Cecile occupied, and as she did so the young 
mother crossed the room, and her shadow was outlined 
upon the curtain, while she seemed to be weeping, for 
her proud head was bowed and her face was covered with 
her handkerchief. 

Another moment and Dr. Mortimer came and stood 
beside her, laying his hand upon her shoulder and bend- 
ing toward her — very tenderly, it appeared to that sharp- 
eyed, watching woman passing in the street — and speak- 
ing earnestly to her. 

Helen Langley's face flushed a hot, anxious crimson, 
and her heart bounded with an awful fear. 

She ordered her driver to stop, alighted as -quickly as 
her trembling limbs would permit, went up the steps 
and rang the bell. 

‘‘ How is the child?" she breathlessly -demanded of the 
servant who came the door. 

Very bad, marm — dying, the doctor fears." 

Dying!” her stiffening lips repeated, while every 
atom of color fled from her face. 

'^Yes, marm; the croup have set in, and the doctor 
thinks there’s no chance for her." 

The woman leaned against the door for support, every 
spark of hope dyii^g out of her heart. 

‘^Dr. Mortimer lives here, doesn’t he?" she asked, 
after a moment, while the servant wondered why she 
should be so overcome by what he had told her. 


178 


A AmSTOCBAT. 


Yes, marra; those are his rooms up there where you 
see the bright light, but the lady has had them this many 
a day, and there is where the little one is dying — hark!’’ 

He stopped suddenly as a hoarse, labored sound reached 
them; it was the painful breathing of little Daisy, who 
was indeed very near the verge of eternity. 

Mrs. Langley could bear no more; she turned and 
went away with a groan, feeling as if the brand of Cain 
was already stamped upon her brow. 

If she had not stolen the child and brought her hither, 
she doubtless w^ould have been well and happy at this 
moment in her pretty home in Yew York. 

Too late she repented of that rash act which had cost 
her the friendship and respect of her dearest friend, and 
the life of her brother's child. 

But the dawn of a day of retribution was at hand. 

On returning to her hotel, she found a telegram con- 
taining the most startling news awaiting her. 

Her husband had met with an accident, was severely 
injured, and she was notified to return immediately. 

Almost wild with excitement and nervousness, she 
hastily packed her trunks, and succeeded in catching 
the eastward-bound evening express just as it was on the 
point of leaving the station at Oakland. 

She now realized something of the suffering which 
Oecile had experienced during that long, wearisome 
journey, for it seemed to her as if it would never end; 
and when at length it was over, and she had reached her 
home, it was to find that Colonel Langley had breathed 
his last twenty-four hours previous, and she was a widow. 

Will it shock you, gentle reader, to be told that al- 
most the first question this strange woman asked, upon 
being told that her husband was no more, was: 

‘"Did he make a will?'" 

“No, madam," her physician answered, stifliy; “Colo- 
nel La7igley was thrown from his carriage, striking his 
head violently against the curbstone, and he has not 
been conscious a moment since." / 

The colonel had just returned from Washington, 
where he had been for several weeks; his man met him 


A TMUE ABISTOGBAT. 


179 


at the station with a pair of spirited horses, which took 
fright on their way home at a boy trying to send np a 
kite, became unmanageable, overturning the carriage 
aiid dashing him to the pavement, and his wordly 
career was thus- suddenly ended. He was believed to 
be very wealthy, but if there was no will very little of 
his property would come to his wife, and it was, per- 
haps, this fact rather than grief for his untimely end, 
which threw her into those violent hysterics which lasted 
all the night through. 

Hor was fhis all. 

The, next morning, when she was calmer, she went 
below to the library to look over the mail matter which 
a servant had told her had been accumulating during her 
absence. 

When she kft home she had expected that her hus- 
band w^ould fe back and forth, and had arranged for 
him to forward any letters that might come for her; but 
he had been detained all this time, and thus all her 
correspondence had been neglected. 

Upon her husband^’s desk, among a mass of letters 
and papers, she found a bulky epistle, the handwrit- 
ing upon which nearly made her scream with pain and 
fear; also a cablegram from Liverpool, England, which 
ran thus: 

‘^‘^Dear Helei^: — Am safe and well; shall return very 
soon. Break the tidings gently to Cecile. Will write 
more fully. Howard Montgomery. 

The letter — a long one — was also from her long- 
absent brother, and in it was another, addressed ’to his 
wife; for, he said, she of course would know all about 
her, and he could think of no other way to communi- 
cate with her. 

He gave a brief account of all that had transpired 
during his enforced idleness, and closed by saying 
that he would enter more into detail when he returned, 
and desired that she would reply immediately, sO that 
he might know something of her and his other dear ones. 


180 


A TRUE ABISTOGRAT. 


There were also two other letters of later date — anx- 
ious, impatient ones, wondering why 'she did not write 
to him, and begging for tidings of his wife and child. 

It was almost too much — this avalanche of trouble 
sweeping down upon her all at once — and Helen Lang- 
ley lay back in her chair, faint and sick at heart. 

That her husband should be taken so suddenly, and 
die too, without making any will, was trouble enough, 
although she had never experienced any particular 
affection for him, any more than she would have felt for 
any one who gratified every selfish whim. * 

But how could she ever meet her brother — how could 
she ever face him with the burden of all her guilt 
on her heart? How account to him for her treatment 
of his wife and child — for refusing the maid or shelter 
in their stern necessity — for depriving l^iem of their 
right to his property, and for stealing his little one 
from her mother and bearing her away to her death? 

The letter and cablegram had both been sent the 
same day, and shortly after she left for California. 

Her husband had been away, consequently they had 
been overlooked and neglected, and thus slie found 
them, just in the midst of her other troubles. 

^^What shall I do?” she murmured, with a sinking 
heart. I can never meet him and tell him about her; 
he would question me so closely that he would worm 
everything from me, and then I believe he would kill 
me. I am afi'aid to meet him. Where can he have 
been all this time? — what has happened to detain him?” 

All day long she sat alone, trying to think what she 
should tell him; he was liable to come at any moment 
now, and he would demand a full account of everything 
concerning his cherished wife and child. 

All night long she lay tossing restlessly upon her 
pillow, and there, while the vessel that was bringing her 
long-absent brother back to his country, was even then 
entering the harbor, she conceived a plot so diabolical, 
and so destructive of the happiness of those whom she 
both hated and loved, that even the spirits of evil them- 
selves surrounding her must have vailed their faces and 
trembled. 


A TBU£: ABISTOCBAT, 


181 


CHAPTER XXIL 

THE MISSIHG HUSBAHD. 

A nd now the question naturally arises, Where 
had the missing husband been during all this 
Unie?^'’ What had happened to detain Howard Mont- 
gomery from the side of the wife and child to whom he 
was so devoted, and just at that important hour ap- 
pointed for the sailing of the Britannic? 

He thought, as he stepped from the vessel, that he 
would take a carriage, drive directly to the store where 
he had made his purchases, settle his bill, and return in 
the same way. 

There were several carriages filled with passengers and 
loaded with baggage waiting there, but no empty ones, 
and he knew that if he waited for them to unload, the 
time would slip by, and Cecile would worry over his 
prolonged absence. 

I can walk the distance, while I should be waiting, 
he said to himself; and, acting upon the thought, he 
made his way out of the crowd and confusion, and, with 
quick, springing steps, turned toward McCleod & Co., 
dealers in woolen goods, rugs, shawls, hose, etc. 

Turning to the right, as he left the wharf, he passed 
into an alley, wdiich seemed 'deserted, and which he 
thought would cut olf something of the distance, and 
was proceeding at a brisk pace, wdien a dark-browed, 
swarthy, but respectably-dressed man suddenly turned 
a corner just before him, and approached. 

The sidewalk was very narrow, and, as the stranger 
passed, he stumbled and fell against How^ard, nearly 
causing him to lose his equilibrium. 

At the same instant he felt a hand slipped into the 
inner breast-pocket of his coat, and he knew that he 
was being robbed. He recovered himself almost im- 


/ » 


182 A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

mediately, and, as the man bowed obsequiously, begged 
pardon, and was about to make off, he seized him by 
the wrist in a vise-like grip. 

‘•'Ha! my man,^’ he said, sternly, “so your blunder 
was intentional — you are a thief; but I think you have 
made a slight mistake this time."’^ 

While he was speaking the villain had uttered a pecu- 
liar whistle, while with his free hand he dexterously 
slipped Howard^s wallet, which he had taken from him, 
into an unseen pocket, and then grappled with him. 

The wallet contained his letter of credit and money, 
besides his steamer tickets and other important j)apers, 
and its loss would entail great trouble and annoyance 
upon him; while he saw at once that the struggle to 
recover it would have to be a desperate one. 

He looked anxiously around for help, but the alley was 
in the rear, and between two rows of warehouses used 
for storage, and there was no one in sight at that 
moment. 

He lifted up his voice and shouted with all his 
strength fora policeman; then by a dexterous movement 
he freed one of his hands and hit his antagonist a sting- 
ing blow between the eyes, which caused him to reel, but 
did not make him release his hold upon him. 

The next instant some one from behind had tripped 
him up, and he lay for a moment at full length upon 
the pavement. 

But it was only for a moment, for he sprang to his 
feet again, facing two rogues, now, instead of one. 

He hit boldly out right and left, sending the new- 
comer against the wall with a force which almost stunned 
him, while, as he gripped the other in another effort to 
recover his stolen property, he saw a policeman not far 
off hastening to the scene: 

Both villains saw him, also, and instantly seizing 
Howard by the arms, began crying, loudly: “ Stop thief I 
stop thief V’ at the same time beckoning the officer to 
hasten his movements. 

Our unfortunate friend now found himself in a most 
trying situation, being made to appear like the culprit 


A TRUE ARISTOCBAT. 


183 


instead of the injured party, while his personal aspect 
was certainly very much against him. 

There w^as a great rent in his coat, caused by the 
struggle, and it was covered with dust and dirt from his 
fall; his hat lay battered and soiled upon the pavement, 
his face was flushed, and his hair disheveled. 

^ Here, Mr. Officer, we have a thief for you, captured 
right in the act,^'’ cried one of tliQ men, as the policeman 
arrived upon the scene of action; and before Howard 
could utter one word in defense, he began giving a 
graphic account of how he had attempted to pick his 
pocket as he was passing through the alley, and doubt- 
less would have succeeded had not the other come to his 
assistance. 

This story was corroborated by Howard s second as- 
sailant, of course; and as he certainly was more disreput- 
able in his appearance just then, with his soiled and 
disarranged clothing, his flushed countenance and 
anxious looks, the officer immediately took him into 
custody. 

He attempted to give his version of the story, but w^as 
constantly interrupted and contradicted by his accusers 
in such a manner that the policeman could get no clear 
idea of it. 

Howard at last told him, however, that if he would 
take him to the hotel where he had been stopping during 
his stay in Liverpool, he could easily convince him of 
the truth of his assertions. ^ 

This the officer consented to do, much to the dismay 
of the two thieves, who thought they were going to get 
out of the difficulty without any trouble. 

They became quite indignant, saying they could 
not be detained just then — important business called 
them another way, and so forth; but they were curtly 
informed that their presence would be necessary, and 
accordingly they took up a line of march for the hotel 
designated. 

As they were turning the corner of the street upon 
which it was located, they were nearly run into by a 
man who appeared very anxious and flurried and in great 
haste. 


184 


A TMUi: ARISTOCBAT. 


It was the man of whom Howard had purchased the 
shawls and rugs the day before. 

He felt relieved instantly, for he thought there 
would be no further difficulty about his identity; but 
his heart grew heavy again as the man «^ngrily ex- 
claimed : 

‘^‘Ha! here you are at last; Tve found you, and now 
I want my money. What do you think of yourself, 
running oft at this rate* and cheating honest people out 
of their just dues?^^ 

dear sir,” Howard answered, respectfully, 
was just on my way to settle the bill when those 
wretches attacked me and robbed me of my pocket-book 
containing my steamer tickets, my letter of credit, 
and all the money I had. They declare that the matter 
is just the reverse, however, and we were on the way to 
the hotel where I stopped to prove rtiy identity.” 

Well, I can identify you easily enough, and you can 
pay over that little amount as quickly as possible,” was 
the gruff response. 

That rascal there has my wallet in his possession, 
and if you can make him deliver it up I will gladly 
pay what I owe you. I demand that he be searched, 
and you will not only find what I have already men- 
tioned, but important letters and papers bearing my 
name,” Howard said, pointing to the rascal who had 
first attacked him, and turning authoritatively to the 
officer. 

The villain took off his hat and bowed with the utmost 
politeness to the woolen merchant. 

“ I beg pardon,” he said, showing a set of very white 
teeth in an insinuating smile, ‘^but the fellow is trying 
to lead you into a mistake. He attempted to rob me, 
without, however, accomplishing his object, I am happy 
to say, and was arrested almost in the act. Neverthe- 
less I am perfectly willing to be searched, if that will 
expedite matters, for I am in considerable of a hurry,” 
and he immediately began to empty his pockets; but 
there was nothing in them that looked at all like How- 
ard^’s property. The other man was examined with the 


A TJiU-B AJilSTOaiiAT. 


185 


same result. Upon this the woolen merchant began 
to rare and swear, telling that he had just been to the 
hotel designated to get his pay, and was told that his 
debtor had gone to the steamer that was to sail that day, 
and he was hastening with all possible speed to catch 
him before the vessel should put off. 

The officer laughed mockingly at this account. 

Well,^'’ he said, I don’t think there will be much 
use in going to the hotel now— your identity is clear 
enough, it seems. I’ll march you into camp, and this 
thing can be settled before a judge to-morrow morning;” 
and he immediately faced about with his prisoner. 

A feeling of despair took possession of Howard at 
this. Nearly an hour had already elapsed since he left 
the steamer, and Oecile would be wild with anxiety if 
he did not soon return; and, if the vessel should sail 
without him, what would she do without tickets or 
money to pay her passage? — for he well knew she had 
not enough for that purpose. 

have a wife and child on board the Britannia,” he 
said, the cold perspiration starting out upon his fore- 
head. 

Can’t help it, sir; you should have thought o’ that 
before ye began to cut up your tricks,” was the cool re- 
tort of the official. 

The indignant blood leaped to the insulted man’s 
cheeks at this; but he knew he was powerless to re- 
taliate. 

At least take me to the steamer, and let me tell my 
wife what has occurred!” he pleaded. 

‘^No, sir; haven’t any time to waste in that way,” re- 
plied the officer. 

But she has no tickets; they were in my wallet, and 
that wretch has them — and she will be very much dis- 
tressed if the vessel should sail and she has no word to 
let her know why I am detained.” 

The ‘^wretch” referred to shrugged his shoulders, 
with a supercilious smile, and tipped the policeman a 
knowing wink. 

No, you don’t, my man! I’m too sharp for you to 


186 


A TBUF ARISTOCBAT. 


play any such game as thaib upon me/^ Howard’s custo- 
dian returned, adding: 

‘‘ I’m not at all sure you have either wife or child on 
shipboard or anywhere else. It may be another trick of 
yours to get into a crowd and give me the slip.” 

"'What shall I do?” Howard cried, turning deathly 
pale, and beginning to realize that he had fallen into 
serious trouble. 

"You’ll have to wait until the next steamer, and 
pei'haps longer,” returned the man, with grim humor. 

I cannot wsiitl I must go! I must see my wife! 
Have you no mercy?” Howard demanded, with white 
lips, as a neighboring clock warned him of the passing 
time. 

Plenty for them that need i-t. Come on.” 

"I will not!” he cried; and, v/ith the energy of de- 
spair, he tore himself from the grasp of the officer, and 
would have succeeded in making his escape if the 
wretch who had robbed him had not darted forward and 
seized him. 

"You’re a fine fellow, no doubt,” the policeman said, 
when he had him once more by the arm, " but not quite 
quick enough this time; and now if you don’t go quietly 
I shall have to put the darbies on.” 

He took them from one of his capacious pockets as he 
spoke. 

Howard recoiled. 

He could not submit to the disgrace of being man- 
acled. 

" I will go,” he said, hoarsely, but with a look of de- 
spair in his eyes. 

How would his idolized wife ever bear the terrible 
ordeal awaiting her! 

The officer hooked his arm within that of his prisoner 
and led him to the nearest station-house, and as it was 
too late to go before the proper officials for examination 
that day, he was locked up for the night. 

It would be difficult indeed to describe the feelings of 
the aristocratic Howard Montgomery as he was thus 
marched like a common felon to his dismal cell, to await 


A ABISrOCHAT. 


187 


his trial for theft; but this disgrace did not compare 
with the misery he suffered as he thought of his fair 
young wife on shipboard, sailing away without him, in 
the midst of strangers, with no one to care for and wait 
upon her during the long and tedious voyage, and with- 
out money sufficient to meet the necessary expenses of 
the journey. 

will telegraph her the instant I am free,"*^ he 
thought as he sat considering the matter, ‘^^and she will 
get it immediately on her arrival. I will tell her to go 
to Griswold and get all the money she needs, and I will 
sail on the next steamer.'’^ 

But the startling question arose: 

“ Where will you get funds to pay your passage 
I have my watch and diamonds, he said; I can 
sell them and get money. 

But even as he spoke he put his hand to his shirt- 
front and found that an expensive solitaire was gone. 
That, too, had been torn from him during the melee. 
But he still had his ‘watch and sleeve-buttons, which 
were set with diamonds, and these would realize suffi- 
cient to pay his passage home. 

It was well, perhaps, that he could not foresee what 
the future held in store for him, for even his strong, 
resolute nature could not have borne to anticipate it. 


188 


A TRUE AEI8T0CRAT, 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

IN THE TOILS. 

I T W AS late the next day before Howard Montgomery 
was brought forth from his cell for his examination, 
and as he entered the court-room his personal appear- 
ance was even less prepossessing than it had been the 
day before. 

The place of his confinement during the night was 
filthy in the extreme — damp, moldy, and hung with 
cobtvebs and carpeted with dust. 

The miserable pallet with which his cell was provided 
was so foul that he could not make up his mind to lie 
upon it, even had he not been too’wretched to sleep, and 
he had sat all the long night through upon the dusty, 
broken chair — the only other article of furniture that 
the place contained. 

He had taken a severe cold which had inflamed his 
eyes, his face was haggard and unwashed, his hair un- 
combed — for he had been supplied with no conveniences 
for arranging his toilet; his clothing was torn and cov- 
ered with dust, and altogether he was a forlorn-looking 
object. 

True, his apparel was of the finest texture and most 
approved style; his manner and bearing that of a gentle- 
man, his language well chosen and refined, but his looks 
were not in his favor, and there was so much evidence 
brought to bear against him that the court did not ap- 
pear to regard him with much clemency from the first. 

The wretch who had robbed him testified to having 
been assaulted by him, and his statements were cor- 
roborated by his partner in crime, while the police- 
man appeared to believe he had caught a rogue 
almost in the act of committing ^Harceny from the 


A TRUE ABI8T0GRAT. 


189 


p< cCleod & Co. claimed that ho had bought 

g em, and then taken passage on board a 

s ind for America, with intent to defraud 

t — r dues. 


Howard told his story in a straightforward, manly way; 
but he had only his own word to prove his statements, 
and this against so many opposing witnesses did not 
amount to anything. 

The proprietor of the hotel where he had stopped had 
been summoned to appear in his defense; but even he 
now seemed to regard him with suspicion, and his evi- 
dence was given in such a reluctant and non-committal 
manner that it did him full as much harm as good. 

He identified him as having been a guest at his hotel, 
corroborated his statement regarding his wife and child, 
and said he seemed to be a man of means, and that he 
had promptly settled his bill there; but that was all he 
knew about him or could say in his favor, and there was 
not another individual in all Liverpool to whom he could 
appeal in his trying situation. 

The villain who had caused him all this misery had 
assumed the garb and manner of a gentleman, and 
carried off his part in the drama with such a high head, 
dwelling with such apparent gratitude upon the fact that 
that other man, who was a stranger to him, should 
have come so opportunely to his assistance, that the 
evidence seemed conclusive against Howard, and the 
judge could do no other way, had he. been inclined — 
which he was not, as, for some reason best known to 
himself, he had a special grudge against all Americans 
— than to sentence him to a term of three years in the 
county prison. 

Howard, of course appealed from this decision, but as 
he was powerless to give bonds, he was sentenced to his 
place of confinement to await the issue of the case at the 
next term of the court. 

It was a bitter experience for him, but he hoped to be 
able to communicate in the meantime with some of his 
friends in the United States, and settle the matter satis- 
factorily. 


190 


A TBUJEJ AMISTOCE AT. 


But first of all he must let Cecile know something of 
vhat had befallen him, for what must she think, what 
must she be suffering even now on his account? 

It drove him nearly frantic to think of it, and of how 
cunningly he had been robbed and outwitted by that 
rascal who had so boldly faced him in court with his 
plausible and artfully concocted story, and for hours he’ 
paced his cell like some wild animal in his cage. 

He tried to bribe his keeper to take one of his sleeve- 
buttons, sell it, and buy him pen and paper, so that he 
might write to his wife and also send a cablegram to her, 
that upon her arrival she might know that no serious 
accident had befallen him, and that he would return at 
the earliest possible moment. 

But the keeper was suspicious; he believed that valu- 
able sleeve-button was also stolen property, and accord- 
ingly he refused to have anything to do with it, lest he, 
too, get into trouble by means of it. 

Howard next tried him with his watch, although he 
did not like to part with it — being a very valuable time- 
piece — but the emergency demanded almost any sacri- 
fice. 

He, however, met with no better success in this pro- 
position, and, harassed and irritated almost beyond en- 
durance, he was forced to realize that nothing but 
patience would avail him anything until after his 
trial. 

But the cold which he had taken proved to be a very 
severe one. It seemed to increase as the day went by; 
he grew feverish, his head and limbs ached so that it 
became almost impossible for him to sit up, and»at 
length, all unmindful of the filthy state of his cot, he 
threw himself wearily upon it, and there the jailer 
found him, when he came to bring him his coarse fare 
at night, tossing and raving with fever and delirium. 

He was at once removed to the sick-ward, where he 
lay for weeks, writhing with brain fever in its worst 
form. 

At one time he would call wildly and piteously for his 
wife and child, begging that they might not be taken 


« 



A TEUB ARISTOCMAT. 


191 


from him, reiterating again and again his innocence of 
the crime witli which he was charged; then he would 
imagine himself contending with the wretch who had 
robbed him, and that scene would be enacted over again, 
until, exhausted by his violent contortions, he would lie, 
weak and panting, upon his couch, until another 
paroxysm seized him. 

It was a terrible illness, and no one thought he would 
ever recover from it, but his strong constitution gained 
the mastery at length; the fever left him, and he began 
slowly to mend. 

But as he regained his physical strength, it became 
apparent that his intellect was impaired. 

He remembered nothing of the events which had 
so vividly haunted him during his sickness; he did not 
seem to realize where he was, or that strangers were 
waiting upon him, nor did he even remember his name, 
or speak those of either his wife or child. 

As soon as his condition would admit of it, he was 
transferred to an asylum for insane paupers, and there, 
for nearly three years, he dragged out an existence 
almost too wretched to be credited. 

The man who had charge of the institution was kind 
and humane, and when he found that the new inmate 
was harmless, he allowed him considerable, liberty, and 
strove to interest him in some light outdoor exercise. 
As his health improved his mind became stronger, and 
at times he would seem, to have sudden glimpses of the 
past, but they would almost, as quickly fade away and 
his memory become a blank again. 

A year passed thus, and then the keeper of the asylum 
suddenly sickened and died. 

It was a sad day for the inmates of that miserable 
place when the good man was carried forth to his grave, 
for all under his care had been as kindly treated and 
cared for as circumstances would permit. 

A successor was appointed almost immediately, and a 
new regime was instituted, and a hard one, indeed, for 
the poor inmates of that place. 

The first time that Howard met this man after his in- 


192 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


stallment he gave a violent start, and a nervous tremor 
shook his whole frame. 

He put his hand to his head, as if some painful mem- 
ory had suddenly returned to him, and uttered an un- 
intelligible cry, half of recognition, half of fear. 

The man did not see him until he heard the cry, 
which seemed to anger him, for he was a coward, and it 
startled him. 

^MVhat is the matter with you, you fool?"’"’ he de- 
manded, fiercely, while he glared into the white face 
and startled eyes of his patient with a curious gaze. 

Then he, too, appeared greatly astonished. 

He turned very pale, and stood regarding him with 
something of terror in his look for several minutes. 

Then recovering himself he continued, with a wicked 
leer, his evil eyes lighting with triumph and cruelty: 

^‘^Ha! do I find you here? What luck! I shouldmT 
wonder of I led you a fine dance before I get through 
with you.^^ 

Howard Montgomery stood motionless as a statue — 
stood as if he had been petrified by the words, staring 
blankly at the man, while back into the chamber of his 
brain the light of other days was flashing, illuming the 
darkness,, and waking into action the faculties which so 
long had lain dormant and impotent. . 

"‘Villain!^" he muttered, under his breath, while for 
the first time since his fearful illness his eyes flashed 
with recognition, memory resumed her sway, and he re- 
called all the past in one instant of time. 

He saw before him the very man who had been the 
cause of all his misfortune, all his suffering, and the 
shock of meeting him thus had brought him to himself. 

It was indeed the scoundrel who had attacked him in 
that deserted alley in Liverpool, and it was a strange' 
freak of fate which had decreed that he should be ap- 
jDointed to superintend this asylum for insane paupers, 
and thus throw our unfortunate friend again into his 
cruel power. 

He called himself Dr. Humphrey Grigg; but what 
wires he had pulled, or through whose influence he had 


A TBFB ABTSrOCRAT. 


193 


managed to get appointed to this position, no one save 
himself ever knew; and it was a sad day for the inmates 
of that place when this monster in' human form came 
there to rule over them. 

As Howard uttered that one word, and he saw that he 
also was recognized, he scowled fiercely. 

‘‘AhaT he said, think you must be one of the 
dangerous inmates. How came 3^011 loose 

Howard^s eyes blazed angrily, but memories were 
crowding so rapidly upon him, and he was becoming so 
excited, that he turned away without deigning any reply, 
anxious to get away by himself and think out the strange 
problems of the past in quiet. 

“You insolent dog! why don^t you answer me?’’ cried 
the keeper, infuriated by his manner, and striding up to 
him he laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder. 

Howard drew back from him, looking him full in the 
eyes. 

He was terribly excited, and he felt that it would take 
very little more provocation to make him strike his foe 
senseless at his feet. 

“It will be best for you to let me alone, or. I will not 
answer for the consequences,” he said, in low, hoarse 
tones. 

“ I thought you were dangerous the moment I looked 
at you; now I’m sure of it, and if you’re beginning to 
rave we shall have to put you where you can’t do any- 
body harm,” returned Dr. Grigg, and calling two men 
who were at work near by, he ordered them to take 
Howard to the strong room and lock him up. 

They looked surprised, and hesitated, for he was con- 
sidered the most gentle and harmless of all the pa- 
tients. 

“ What do you mean? Don’t you intend to do as I 
tell you ?” passionately demanded their master, empha- 
sizing his words with a terrible oath; and without more 
ado they led their unresisting prisoner away and locked 
him up in a room kept expressly for dangerous cases, and 
from that hour his life became almost unbearable. 

The man who had so wronged him seemed to gloat 


194 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


over the fact that he was in his power, and took delight 
in torturing him to the very verge of desperation. 

He made inquiries, and learned how it happened that 
he found him in that wretched place, when he supposed 
him in prison serving out his sentence for his own crime. 

He knew that he had been very ill, but supposed that 
he should be summoned to appear at his second trial 
whenever it should occur; but as he had not been noti- 
fied, he thought likely that his evidence had not been 
required. 

He saw now, however, that whatever his condition 
may have been heretofore, he had by some means sud- 
denly recovered his reason; and he knew that if the 
authorities should discover it he would probably be re- 
moved, and the long postponed trial would occur now, 

But he did not intend that the authorities should 
know it; he meant to keep his victim in his power, and 
amuse himself at his expense; so he gave out the im- 
pression that his disease had taken a new form, that he 
had become dangerous, and it was necessary to keep him 
closely confined. 

He was kept locked day and night in the strong room 
before referred to, fed upon the coarsest and most miser- 
able fare, clad in most repulsive garments, and his daily 
life became more intolerable than the most abject slavery 
could have been. 

Every day the keeper went to him and spent an hour 
in torturing him — reviewing that scene in the alley, 
twitting him about that unpaid bill at McCleod & Oo.\ 
taunting him about his wife and child and’ his enforced 
absence from them, and abusing him in the most wanton 
manner. 

Usually Howard kept utter silence before him, dis- 
daining him any reply, although many a time it seemed 
as if human nature could endure no more. Yet, in 
spite of all, he continued to improve mentally. 

That terrible shock had restored his thinking and 
reasoning powers, and all his energies were now bent 
upon one thought — escape. 

But he was so closely confined and watched that tbis 


1 


A TJUTU AlilSTOOHAT. 


195 


seemed next to an impossibility, and the months length- 
ened into years, until hope began to grow dim again and 
courage to wane. 

One day, however, his tormentor came to his door, 
which was composed partially of a heavy grating, and 
began his usual abuse. 

While there, one of his assistants came to him, asking 
him for a bill which some one wanted. 

Dr. Grigg took his wallet from his pocket, from which 
he extracted the desired paper, and gave it to the man, 
who immediately went away again. 

The instant that Howard’s eyes lighted on that wallet, 
it seemed as if every nerve in his body had become a 
thing of life. 

He felt for a moment like shouting aloud, but con- 
trolling himself, he turned quickly and looked out of 
his window to hide the wild look of joy in his eyes. 

He had recognized his ozon wallet — the very one that 
had been stolen from him on that fatal day! 

It was an expensive one, of Eussia leather, and fastened 
with silver clasps. 

One of these clasps was peculiar — although it loohed 
exactly like the other — being hollow, and opening with 
a tiny secret spring, and upon the inside of the face of 
it he had had his name engraved. 

Nor w^as this all. 

For greater security against losing, or rather, for 
identifying it in case it should be lost, he had, before 
leaving home, ripped apart one of the pockets and writ- 
ten his full name with ink upon it, and then had the 
pocket stitched together again. 

The wallet, he noticed to-day, had been very well pre- 
served, although it was somewhat soiled by handling; 
but, though he never would think of using it again 
should it ever come into his possession, he felt that in it, 
and in it alone, lay his salvation — his hope of escape, 
and also the retribution of the wretch who had caused 
him all his misery. 

How, he could not yet determine, but hope had gath- 
ered new strength in his heart from the trifling incident 
of that day. 


196 


A 2'IiirjS AJilSTOCBAT. 


CHAPTEE XXIV. 

THE TABLES TUKHED. 

A bout a week after the incidents related in the 
last chapter, and on the very day that Daisy 
Montgomery was three years of age — at the very hour, 
indeed, when she was being borne, as rapidly as steam 
and wheels could carry her, away from her home and 
the fond mother who was so wildly searching for her, a 
strange event transpired to interrupt the miserable 
monotony of Howard Montgomery's life. 

Two physicians — one English, the other American — 
who were interested in asylums for, and the treatment 
of the insane, started forth upon a tour of investigation, 
and, among other institutions, visited the pauper asylum* 
where Howard had been so long and so cruelly confined. 

Dr. Grigg always received all visitors in a bland and 
suave manner, and to-day he was especially alfable, for 
he saw at a glance that his callers were men of no ordi- 
nary stamp, and that they were thoroughly interested in 
this branch of medical science. 

He professed to be greatly pleased that they should • 
manifest a sympathy for the sad work in which he was 
engaged, and conducted them over the establishment, 
explaining in a voluble manner how it had hitherto ; 
been managed, and what improvements he had already 
made and still hoped to make. ; 

Things were not at all as he wished to have them," 
he said, as he saw the looks of blank astonishment which ^ 
the two gentlemen exchanged upon beholding the miser- . 
able condition of the inmates, but the appropriation | 
was so inadequate, he was so hampered and restricted, i 
that he could not do Justice to either them or himself. I 
But he trusted that time and perseverence would, in a | 


A TBUE AEISTOCBAT. 


197 


measure, remedy many evils, althongli he did wish that 
some philanthropist would interest himself in the matter, 
lay it before Parliament at the next session, and try to 
get a larger appropriation for all such institutions.” 

Dr. Grigg was certainly a good talker, and he seemed 
peculiarly gifted in being able to draw comfort from the 
most limited resources, his visitors thought. 

‘‘Most of my patients are quiet and harmless,” he 
said, as they were passing through one of the corridors, 
“ I have but very few whom it is necessary to restri(*t at 
all, and only one whom 1 consider absolutely dangerous. 
He occupies yonder strong room,” pointing to one at 
the end of the passage, which had a strong oaken door 
grated half way; he is at times quite unmanageable and 
destructive, and I am obliged to keep him closely con- 
fined all of the time. Perhaps it will be just as well if 
we do not go nearer, as the sight of strangers sometimes 
sets him to raving.” 

The wretch would have gladly led his visitors away 
without allowing them to see the pale and sad-looking 
prisoner who occupied that miserable room, and in 
whose sorrowful eyes there burned no fire of insanity. 

But one of the physicians had been watching liiin 
narrowly throughout the whole interview — he did not 
like the man at all — and he mistrusted that things were 
not so smoothly conducted as he would have them aj)- 
pear. 

“Excuse me,” he said politely, “but I am especially 
interested in these difficult cases, and if you will allow 
me I will step forward and have a look at the poor fel- 
low.” 

Grigg could not forbid him, but he looked somewhat 
uneasy, and the stranger went his way while his com- 
panion stopped in the passage to remark upon the de- 
fective ventilation of the building, and to suggest some 
improvement in that line. 

Dr. Anthony — he wlio was interested in dangerous 
cases — stole softly down the corridor to have a glance at 
the “madman” confined behind that heavy grating. 

Howard was standing by the window, looking out 


198 


A TBU'^ ABISTOOBAT. 


upon the hills beyond, and his profile only was visi- 
ble. 

He appeared not to be conscious that any one had 
approached the door, but at the first glance which 
George Anthony bestowed upon him, he uttered in a 
suppressed, horrified tone the startled words: 

‘‘My God!^^ 

Howard turned suddenly to see who had spoken, and 
found himself confronted by an old college chum. 
“Heavens! Anthony!’" he cried, the cold perspiration 
starting out all over him in great beads, “ how came 
you here?” 

Then, as his friend continued speechless from sur- 
prise, he went on in low, excited tones, while he trembled 
so violently that he was obliged to grasp a chair for 
support: 

“ Hush! don’t for God’s sake let that wretch yonder 
know that you ever saw me before, or I am lost.” 

“Why do I find you here — in this dreadful place?” 
Dr. Anthony demanded, his face as pale as Howard’s 
own. 

“ I cannot tell you now, but I have suffered enough 
to drive ten men crazy.” 

“You are not insane,” interrupted his friend, search- 
ing his face keenly; “you /lave not leen insane.” 

“ I am in my right mind as much as you are — but I had 
a terrible sickness, and for a time lost my reason; but 
more of that hereafter. Now, do as I tell you, and you 
can save me.” Howard continued very rapidly, and 
scarcely above a whisper: “Go to the city, get out a 
warrant for the arrest of the wretch who has charge of 
this place — he is a thief, and I can prove it if you’ll 
bring an officer here. The proof of what I tell you is 
on his person at this momenj^ and, besides all this, he 
has kept me confined here, torturing me beyond endur- 
ance for two years, which of itself is sufficient cause for 
his arrest.” 

“ But I do not understand how you ever came to such 
a pass — yon, with an unlimited fortune at your com- 
mand!” pursued Dr. Anthony, with a glance over his 
shoulder to see if he was observed. 


A THUE ARISTOGHAT. 


199 


His friend and Grigg liad moved a little further down 
the passage, and he felt emboldened to question Howard 
a little more fully. 

“He — that villain who has charge here — tried to rob 
me on the very clay that I was to have sailed for home. 
In our struggle a policeman appeared, and he managed 
to turn the tables upon me, making it appear that I 
was the thief instead of himself. I was arrested, con- 
victed, and sentenced; but, after a long illness, which 
impaired my mind, being without friends or funds, I was 
sent here. At first I was kindly treated, but the former 
overseer suddenly died, and by a strange coincidence 
this wretch was appointed in his place; and, although 
for two years 1 have been as sane as anybody, he has 
kept me a close prisoner and a victim to his cruelty. 

“Infamous!’^ exclaimed George Anthony, the hot, 
indignant blood surging over his face. You shall not 
remain here another moment. My friend will help me, 
and we will liberate you this instant.” 

“No,” Howard said, hurriedly; “it will be better to 
bring an officer here, arrest Grigg, and then the 
cause of all my trouble will be removed and beyond 
harming me or any one else; he is a monster who de- 
lights to torture those around him. Hush! they are 
coming; do not breathe a word to let him know you 
ever saw me before.” 

Howard turned away from his friend, and, feeling 
too weak to stand, sat down with his back to the door, 
and appeared to be looking absently from his window, 
as was his custom whenever any one visited the asylum. 

Dr. Grigg and the English physician now came up, 
and the former said, glancing at Dr. Anthony somewhat 
curiously: 

You seem to be quite interested, sir, in my tough 
customer. AVhat do make out of him?” 

“I don't see but that he is quiet enough just now; 
I expected to find a perfect bear from your descrip- 
tion,” Dr. Anthony tried to say indifferently, but 
feeling as if he would like to smite the man to the 
ground. 


200 


A TRTIE ARISTOCRAT. 


For three 3’ears he and Howard I^Iontgomery had 
shared the same rooms at college, and their friendship 
had been one of the few perfect things of this earth, and 
for a long time after they had gone their different ways 
in the world — one to the South to practice medicine, the 
other to the great metropolis — they had kept up a regu- 
lar correspondence. But this had dropped off gradually, 
and for the past three or four years Dr. Anthony had 
heard nothing concerning the friend who had been so 
dear to him. 

Nothing could have given him a greater shock than 
this encounter to-day — the proud, the aristocratic, the 
wealthy Howard Montgomery in such a vile den as this, 
clad in rags, with unshorn beard and unkempt hair! He 
could scarcely credit the evidence of his own eyesight 
even now, and he was so excited and wrought up by the 
encounter that it required all the force of his will to 
keep him from denouncing the keeper then and there, 
and rescuing his friend at once from his power. 

ThaFs one of his tricks, you know,^'’ Hrigg responded 
to his remark regarding the quietness of his prisoner, 
wdiile he shot a suspicious glance at Howard. He had 
been on the tenter-hooks” ever since Dr. Anthony 
left him, for he never allowed any one to go there alone; 
^ut his other visitor had kept him talking upon his 
/favorite topic, ventilation,” and he could not follow 
him before. 

Sometimes,” he continued, ^^he puts on this quiet 
manner to cheat visitors into the belief that he is all 
right; but he carries on at a rate to make up for it all 
after they are gone. I suppose he’s been telling you that 
he is as sane as you,” he concluded, watching the doc- 
tor closely. 

They all do that. I’ve seen insane people before,” 
he returned, carelessly; but he doesn’t seem to be in- 
clined to say anything to-day, does he? I’ve asked him 
several questions; I wanted to getan opportunity to look 
into his eyes, but he sits with his back to the door.” 

‘H’ll stir him up for you,” Grigg returned, entirely 
reassured and deceived by Dr. Anthony’s words. ‘‘Ho! 


% 



A TBUE ABISTOCBAT. 


201 


you scamp; right about face, and let these gentlemen 
have a look at yon/^ he concluded, roughly. 

But Howard remained as motionless as a block of 
stone. He would not have turned at that moment and 
exposed his white, agitated face for anything in the 
world. He knew it would betray him, while he had 
been seized with such a violent inward tremor that he 
could with difficulty keep his teeth from chattering 
audibly. 

‘‘Never mind; don’t disturb him, it’s of no conse- 
quence,” George Anthony said, while he longed to choke 
the heartless, miserable villain for daring to address his 
friend in such a tone. 

But he controlled himself, mentally vowing that he 
should pay dearly for it a few hours hence, and then 
turning abruptly away he walked from the place, fol- 
lowed by his friend and the keeper, who shot an angry 
glance at his victim as he went for his disobedience. 

Four hours later this monster again sought his 
prisoner. He had intended returning immediately after 
the departure of his visitors, to take ins revenge for the 
defiance which he had manifested before them, but 
several circumstances had transpired to detain him until 
now. 

He carried a whip in his hand, for Howard of late had 
refused to obey his brutal commands and manifested such 
a spirit of defiance that, coward as he was, he thought it 
best to be protected in case of any emergency. 

He locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and 
then stepped up to Howard, snapping the whip almost 
in his eyes. 

“ I’ll see whether you’ll face about when I tell you, 
you dog,” he said, with a wicked leer. 

And Howard did face about now with blazing eyes, 
white, compressed lips and clinched hands. 

He had resolved that he would submit to this kind of 
abuse no longer. 

He felt that it could not be very long before his friend 
would return to liberate him, and he would bear no more 
— he was a desperate man. All the wrongs which this 


202 


A mU-B ABISTOCBAT. 


scoundrel had heaped upon him during the past two 
years arose before liim^ demanding to be avenged. 

The personal abuse which he had suffered, the insult- 
ing language that he had endured, the vile food he had 
been obliged to eat in order to keep the breath of life in 
him, the filthy room he had occupied, the rags he had 
worn, all cried aloud for retribution. 

Keep away from me!-"’ he cried in low, concentrated 
tones. 

Grigg laughed mockingly to see him in this new mood; 
it promised him a pleasureable excitement, and he had 
no suspicion of the thunderbolts about to burst over his 
head. 

With his heavy whip in hand, the door locked and the 
key in his pocket, he felt perfectly safe in carrying his 
barbarous amusement to any extent that he chose. 
^^Keep away from you, eh!’^ he repeated, as he snapped 
the lash again, this time so near to Howard^s head that 
it stirred the raven locks which lay upon his forehead. 

He moved back a step or two, his face ghastly, the 
lines about his mouth hardening into an expression of 
resolution that should have warned his keeper. 

Putting on airs, are ybu, after the compliments the 
Yankee doctor paid you to-day! Well, it gives me a 
little variety, but I reckon I can take them out of you if 
I try.-’^ 

He seemed to enjoy this unusual display of defiance on 
the part of Howard, and continued advancing upon him, 
laughing derisively as he swung his whip right and left. 
But he was altogether too confident of his power, and 
too intent upon his brutal pleasure, for, watching his op- 
portunity, Howard darted forward, taking him unawares, 
and before he had a suspicion of his intention, dex- 
terously tripped him and he fell heavily to the fioor. 

It was then but the work of an instant to get posses- 
sion of his heavy whip, and planting one foot upon the 
fallen heiVs heart, he stood looking down upon him a 
dangerous gleam in his eyes. 

With a volley of the most horrible oaths Grigg com- 
manded him to let him rise, while he struggled Avith all 


ci TRUE AEISTOCBAT. 


203 


his strength to lift that foot, planted so firmly upon his 
chest. 

sir ; you have had your day,, now 7ny time has 
come,” Howard returned, in tones so stern and relent- 
less that the man shivered with fear, and he redoubled 
his efforts to escape from his captor. 

‘^Keep still, or I shall knock you senseless with the 
butt of this whip,” he continued; it will do you no 
good to struggle; you cannot rise until I give you leave. 
I am not mad, but at this moment I have the strength 
of ten men;” and the man looking up into his set, deter- 
mined face, realized the truth of what he said. 

You will not harm me,” he pleaded, with a whimper. 
Howard’s lip curled. 

"^If you wdll obey me, I will do you no injury; dare 
to disobey me and I will make your body one mass of 
livid welts with this whip, which you brought here to 
amuse yourself with at my expense,” he said, coldly. 

Let me up and I will do anything you say, but I 
cannot lie here, your foot is crushing me,” whined the 
coward. 

^^Put your hand in your pocket and give me the key 
to the door of this room,” Howard commanded, without 
heeding his complaint. 

Grigg’s face grew white at this; he could endure any- 
thing better than the thought of losing his prey. 

Then a cunning look leaped into his eyes. 

I haven’t it; I did not lock the door when I came 
in; I forgot it; it is on the outside,” he said. 

You lie! you never leave it on the outside; you never 
forget it. I saw you put it in your pocket. Give me 
the key,” Howard retorted, sternly; and Grigg saw that 
it was worse than folly for him to refuse to obey. The 
look in his prisoner’s eye meant business, and he re- 
luctantly drew the key forth, holding it out to him. 

Just as Howard’s fingers were about closing over it, 
the wretch gave it a toss, and it fell with a ringing 
sound upon the floor three feet beyond his reach. 

The trick took him by surprise, and he relaxed the 
pressure of his foot somewhat. 


•204 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


Quick as thought Grigg took advantage of this, sprang 
into a sitting posture, and, grasping Howard by the leg, 
tried to throw him. 

But the whip lash suddenly descended with stinging 
force across his shoulders, for the young man’s patience 
was exhausted, and it was his only mode of defense. 

Grigg was a much more powerful man than he, even 
when he was in full strength, and he knew he must fol- 
low up the slight advantage he had won over him vigor- 
ously, or it would be the worse for him. 

Fast and heavy the blows fell upon his tormentor, 
who shrank from them as a dog would have shrunk be- 
fore his angry master, for a desperate man was wielding 
that whip, and his passion was so fierce and relentless 
that the wretch, fearing for his life, begged and pleaded 
for mercy in the most craven manner. 

' In the midst of this well-merited retribution, a clear, 
authoritative voice cried: 

^^Holdr 


A mUE ARISTOCRAT, 


205 


CHAPTER XXY. 

PREEDOSr. 

At that imperative eommand Howard suspended his 
chastisement, swung suddenly around, and saw three 
men peering in between the bars of the door upon the 
scene just described. 

His thin, pale face lighted with joy, for he instantly 
recognized his friend, who had just returned with his 
companion and another man, whom Howard surmised 
was an officer. 

He sprang for the key which Grigg had thrown upon 
the floor, bounded to the door, unlocked it, and threw 
it open. 

The keeper, as soon as those merciless blows ceased, 
started to his feet and now came forward, foaming, and 
swearing, and vowing vengeance upon his castigator; but 
he dare not lay hands upon him again, for he still held 
that heavy whip, and he still felt the effects of his indig- 
nation too keenly to wish to test it further at present. 
He, too, recognized the two physicians who had visited 
him in the morning, and wondered, while at the same 
time he did not feel very comfortable at receiving a 
second call from them. 

He saw the third gentleman also, and thought perhaps 
they had brought another doctor to go over the asylum; 
but he did not for a moment suspect their real object. 

Upon their arrival, not finding the keeper in the room 
which he used for his office, they inquired of one of his 
assistants where he was, and were told that he was “hav- 
ing a tussel with the wild man,^^ but he would call him 
at once if they desired. 

Dr. Anthony, however, objected to this, saying they 
had returned to examine that very case, and he imme- 


206 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


d lately led the way to the place where Howard was con- 
fined, reaching the spot just as he was meting out the 
retribution so long delayed, but so richly deserved, upon 
the cowardly keeper. 

He knew at once that they had come to liberate him 
— that his long imprisonment and suffering were over 
at last, and as he swung wide the door, he said: 

“ Come in, gentlemen. You have found me in a state 
of excitement, and perhaps it was rather beneath my 
dignity to take matters thus into my own hands; but 
human nature cannot bear everything, and the limit of 
my endurance was reached when this villain came here 
with this weapon in his hand, a little while since, and 
sought to drive me about like a dog. I wrenched the 
whip from him, and, as you see, have repaid a portion 
of the debt I owe him.^'’ 

Served him right, too!^^ Dr. Anthony muttered, with 
a lowering glance at the discomfited keeper, who, as yet 
unable to speak, stood wiping the perspiration from his 
crimson face with hands so nerveless and trembling that 
they could scarcely hold the handkerchief with which he 
was performing the operation. . 

The angry look from the physician served to bring 
him somewhat to himself, and he approached them in 
pretended alarm, saying: 

Stand back, if you please, or there is no knowing 
that you may not be served in the same way that I have 
been, for my patient is unusually dangerous just now. I 
know not what fortunate circumstance has brought you 
back here at this opportune moment, but I am greatly 
indebted to you, for without doubt you have saved my 
life. After you left this morning this poor fellow broke 
forth into the wildest raving. You remember I told you 
that the sight of strangers was liable to produce that 
effect,"’"’ he said, glancing nervously at Dr. Anthony. 

came to him several times, he proceeded, ’‘and 
tried to soothe him, but without avail: and I was 'at last 
obliged to resort to force, much as I dislike to do so. 
But I miscalculated his strength; he got the best of me, 
and has nearly beaten the life out of me, as you per- 


A TRUE ARISTOCBAT. 


207 


ceive/^ as he held out his still trembling hands, which 
were covered with livid welts from the blows that he had 
tried to ward off. 

While Grigg was making this speech Dr. Anthony 
had exchanged glances with Howard, making signs to 
tell him that the stranger accompanying them was an 
officer, who had come prepared to avenge his wrongs. 

With a deeply drawn breath, Howard Montgomery 
stood erect, tossed back the long dark locks from his 
forehead, and with a smile of scorn curling his hand- 
some lips, he said : 

I shall not presume to contradict the statements just 
made, but, instead, proclaim this scoundrel, who calls 
himself Dr. Grigg, a thief, a perjurer, an abuser of the 
helpless and suffering, and a villain of the deepest 
dye 

Stand backl^^ Grigg interrupted, with an angry 
glance at him. Look out, gentlemen, or he will spring 
upon one of you before you know it. I must insist that 
you retire and allow me to come out and lock the door, 
after which I shall be happy to confer with you.'’^ 

As he spoke he tried to force them back and his own 
way oat of the room. 

“ Not quite so fast, if you please. Dr. Grigg, lacon- 
ically interposed the officer, and with ironical emphasis. 

Then going to his side, he laid his. hand heavily upon 
his shoulder, and continued: 

“It becomes my duty to arrest you in the name of 
her majesty, the Queen. 

“What! — what! — what!^^ gasped and stuttered the 
astonished man — “what does this mean? — what is the 
charge against me?^^ 

“ Well, there are several, if I’m not mistaken, and 
you’re the fellow that I take you to be; but Mr. Mont- 
gomery’s charges of theft and perjury will do for the 
present, I reckon,” returned the officer, coolly. 

The keeper flew into a tremendous passion at this, 
although his visitors could see that he grew white about 
the mouth at the remarks of the officer. 

“ Do you dare to do such a thing upon the evidence 


/ 


208 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


of an insane man and a condemned criminal? I will 
not stand it — it is a scandalous proceeding, and I 
swear 

‘‘ That will do, sir,^^ interrupted the officer, not in the 
least disturbed by all this bluster. Wait, and do your 
swearing before the judge. But these two physicians 
liave treated the insane for years, and are prepared to 
make an examination of Mr. Montgomery’s case, but 
meanwhile you are my prisoner.” 

^,'The man swore a horrible oath. 

I won’t be put under arrest,” he screamed. What 
proof have you?” 

‘‘The proof is upon his own person even now,” 
interposed Howard, calmly. 

“Very well, sir; we will search him,” said the officer. 

Grigg looked relieved at this; he never once thought 
of the wallet he had stolen three years previously. 

“All right,” he said, heartily; “search away as much 
as you like — you will find nothing,” and he began to 
empty his pockets Avith great alacrity. 

There were bills and papers, keys, bits of twine and 
rope, a jac knife and — the Avallet. 

“The proof is there,” Howard said, pointing to it. 

Grigg laughed coarsel^y, but gave Howard a startled 
glance nevertheless, Avhile he unhesitatingly opened it 
and displayed its contents — a few notes, some silver, and 
sevei'al bills. 

“I think you will find nothing there, gentlemen; and 
this Avallet I have carried for years,” he said. 

“Yes, for two years and eight or ten months,” How- 
ard said, sternly; then, turning to the others, he con- 
tinued: 

“ Gentlemen, that wallet is mine; I bousfht it four 
years ago in Hew York of Anderson, Phelps & Co., 
Avhose name you will find stamped in gilt upon ii; and 
now, if you will allow me to take it for one moment, I 
can convince 3^11 that 1 am the rightful owner.” 

Grigg now began to look alarmed, and cried out that 
it was a shame for them to stand there and listen to tlie 
ravings of a madman, to the injury and ruin of a re- 
spectable subject of her majest}^ the Queen. 






A mU'jS; AmSTOCjlAT. 


209 


But the ofllcer sternly bade him be still, and passed 
the wallet to Howard, who deftly opened the clasp be- 
fore mentioned, and then handed it back again. 

My name,^'’ he said, ‘Hs Howard Montgomery, as Dr. 
Anthony there can testify, for we vvere room-mates for 
three years. You will find ‘ H. Montgomery'’ engraved 
upon the inside of that silver clasp, which you perceive 
is hollow.'’^ 

The officer and the two ph3^sicians examined it, and 
found the name as he had described. 

Grigg grew livid with fear and rage, as he now com- 
prehended that all this trouble had come upon him 
through his allowing a stranger to visit his victim un- 
attended, and he inwardly cursed himself for his stupid- 
ity and neglect. 

‘^Now, sir,*^ continued Howard, ^^to still further 
prove my position, if you will take your knife and rip 
the stitching of the second pocket, you will find my full 
name written with ink upon the rough side of the 
leather.*’’’ 

The officer did as he was requested, the name was 
found, and then Howard related in as few words as pos- 
sible the circumstances of his encounter with the villain, 
of his arrest, and the events which had occurred since, 
together with the sufiering and abuse which he had en- 
dured at the hands of the wretch before them. 

It is all a lie,’'’ Grigg screamed, seeing tiiat at last he 
was cornered, and with the most dreadful profanity. 

Then, with an energy and agility born of despair, he 
made a hound for the door in a mad effort to escape. 
But the three strangers instantly closed around him, 
cutting off every hope in that direction. 

The officer seized him by the arm, and by a dexterous 
movement slipped a pair of handcuff's upon his wrists, 
and he was now a prisoner indeed. 

“jD?\ Gi-igg, my fine fellow, I hnoio you were in a 
hurry,'” he said, with ironical politeness, as he fastened 
them securely, but we cannot be deprived of your 
agreeable society just yet; there are several little ac- 
counts to be settled first/’ 


210 


A TBUE AEISTOCEAT. 


^^Yoii shall pay dearly for this/" foamed the disap- 
pointed man; a madman"s word will never be taken in 
court."" 

I am afraid the court will find altogether too much 
^method in his madness" for your comfort/" remarked 
Dr. Anthony, as he stepped forward and grasped How- 
ard warmly by the hand. 

My friend/" he said, manly tears springing to his 
eyes, I never can tell you how startled and horrified 
I was to-day to find you in such a place as this; and if 
he/’ pointing to the vanished keeper, ^Hiad happened 
to be with me when I saw you, I should surely have be- 
trayed myself and you, and he would have escaped ar- 
rest and the penalty he so richly deserves. What a life 
you must have led; what suffering you must have en- 
dured!"" 

Howard sank into the one chair in the room; his 
strength was all gone now that his deliverance was 
achieved, and it was several moments before he could 
Command himself sufficiently to speak; while his 'friend, 
observing his emotion, was also so overcome that he 
was obliged to go to the window to hide his own agita- 
tion. 

Presently, however, he approached the gentleman who 
had accompanied him. 

‘^‘'Howard,"" he said, leading him forward to his 
chum, ‘‘'this is my friend. Dr. Forsyth, of London, and 
with whom I studied in Germany awhile. We have 
been making an extensive tour this summer, visiting 
asylums for the insane in different countries, and look- 
ing into their methods of treatment. I"m sure I cannot 
imagine what put the idea into our heads to come to this 
institution to-day, but I shall never cease to thank God 
that we did so."" 

“ Amen!"" said Dr. Forsyth, heartily, as he exchanged 
cordial greetings with Howard; and after a little more 
conversation that gentleman proposed that they should 
all get out of that place as soon as possible. 

“ Do you mean that 1 am to go to-day?"" Howard 
asked, growing very white. 




A 


A THUB ABI8T0GE AT, 


211 


Certainly; you did not suppose, I trust, that we in- 
tended leaving you behind?’" replied Dr. Forsyth, re- 
proachfully. 

But are there no formalities to be gone through 
with, no terms to be made before I can be free?” How- 
ard asked, with trembling lips. 

“Ho; you are just as free to go as we are, and we 
have a double carriage at the door, waiting to take you 
with us.” 

“But you forget that I was, in the eyes of the law, a 
criminal before I became an insane pauper,” Howard 
persisted with some bitterness. 

Hope had lain dormant so long that he could not 
realize even now the fact of his deliverance. 

“We have forgotten nothing,” Dr. Anthony said, 
huskily. There will, of course, have to be another 
trial, but we have given bonds for you, and hold our- 
selves responsible for your appearance before the next 
assizes; and also,” he added, more lightly, “for your 
good behavior as a lunatic.” 

“ But look at me! my appearance will not be very 
creditable to either you or myself,” Howard returned, 
glancing ruefully at his wretched garments. 

“ We won’t give a thought to that now; I must get 
you out of this vile place,” G-eorge Anthony said, with a 
shudder. “Besides,” he added, “I have a light spring 
overcoat in the carriage that will cover you finely, and I 
imagine that we can confiscate a hat of some kind about 
the premises. “Come,” and linking his arm within 
that of his early friend, he led him from the wretched 
abode where he had dragged out such a miserable exist- 
ence for nearly three years. 

“ Come,” the officer said to his prisoner, after the 
others had departed. I have a carriage waiting for 
you/^ 

“ I will not,” he answered hoarsely, and planted him- 
self firmly against the side of the building in a resisting 
attitude. 

“Oh! but I think you will. I make no doubt I could 
master you easily enough alone, but I’m not fond of 


•212 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


over-exerting myself; so if I blow this little whistle my 
pal will be up in a hurry to see what's wanted. But/' 
the officer continued, with a cunning gleam in his eyes, 
which looked straight into those of his captive, “can 
yon tell me before we go, what act of Parliament made 
Jahey Jackson over into Dr. Griggf 

The ex-keeper gave him one frightened, despairing 
look, uttered a groan, and then allowed himself to be 
led away without another word or act of resistance. 

“ Because," continued the officer, in his off-hand way, 
as they went down stairs, “ I've been looking for that 
first-named individual for the past five years to settle a 
little matter down in London for house-breaking and 
robbery, and for an assault upon a defenseless woman. 
Eh? did you ever hear of such a case?" 

And while Dr. Grigg, alias Jakey Jackson, was driven 
away to prison to await his trial, and realize something 
of what his victim had suffered before him, Howard 
Montgomery was conveyed to a first-class hotel, where, 
two hours later, clad as became his means and position, 
he sat down to a repast fit for a king, which his friends 
had ordered to be served in a private room immediately 
upon their return from their mission. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


213 


CHAPTER XXVL 


THE KETURJf TO HEW YORK. 



EORGE ANTHONY said truly when he told 


Howard that he had been greatly shocked and 
excited upon discovering his friend to be an inmate of 
that institution for insane paupers. 

After leaving him he had hurried Dr. Forsyth as 
; quickly as possible from the place, and once in their 
' carriage he had sunk into his seat, looking as if he had 
- seen a ghost. 

What ails you?*^ Dr, Forsyth asked him, while he 
^ regarded his pale, shocked face with surprise. 

My God, Forsyth, you could knock me down with a 
feather; that so-called madman^ whom we have just 
^ left is one of my dearest friends.” 

I What do you mean?” exclaimed his friend in aston- 
[ ishment. 

t Just what I tell you; and besides all this, he is no 
i' more mad than you or I. ” 

The great English physician could scarcely credit 
what he heard. 

Impossible!” he ejaculated. Is he an American?” 

Yes, a wealthy American gentleman. We were at 
college together for three years — at Yale, in New Haven, 

: Conn. — and a finer fellow never drew breath. The last 
: I heard of him was that he had married and started on a 
European tour with his wife. And I tell you, seeing 
; him in that vile den to-day has given me a turn that I 
find it hard to get over. 

I should imagine so; are you sure of your man?” 
^^As sure as I am of my own identity, and he recog- 
nized me instantly.” 


‘'Where is his wife?” 


214 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


I do not know — he did not mention her; he had only 
time for a few words, for he said that if Grigg should 
suspect that he was recognized, his chance for deliver- 
ance would be lost,'" Dr. Anthony returned, and then 
went on to relate what Howard had told him regarding 
the strange circumstances which had brought him to 
such a strait. 

"‘It is the strangest story that I ever heard in my life," 
Dr. Forsyth said, “and that rascal shall suffer to the 
extent of the law for the part he has played in it. But 
why on earth did you not denounce him then and there? 
We could have easily liberated your friend on the spot." 

“Montgomery thought it would be better for me to 
return to the city and swear out a warrant against the 
keeper. If we had attempted to act without authority 
we might have got ourselves into trouble, and also given 
the wretch an opportunity to escape." 

“ That is true; your friend’s advice is good," returned 
his companion, “ and now we will put this matter through 
and he shall be liberated before the sun goes down, while 
that wretched keeper shall sleep in a dungeon." ! 

Upon reaching the city they went immediately to the 
proper authorities, made their statement, gave bonds for 
Howard, testifying to their conviction that he was a per- 
fectly sane man, and secured a warrant for the arrest of 
Grigg upon the charges of theft and perjury, and also 
for the abuse of his power in cruelly torturing those 
untler his care. I 

Dr. Forsyth, being an Englishman and a gentleman 
of influence, and also knowing all the ins and outs of the 
laws of his country, made quick work of the matter, and 
four hours from the time of their first visit to the asy- 
lum, the two physicians, accompanied by an officer, were 
back again to release Howard and arrest the villainous 
keeper. 

While Dr. Grigg, alias Jakey Jackson, was raving 
and swearing in a gloomy prison over the abrupt and 
unhappy termination of his career, Howard sat with his 
friends pn a luxurious parlor of a first-class hotel, and 
told liis thrilling experience of the last three years. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


215 


is the strangest tale that I ever listened io,” Dr. 
Forsyth said, when he had concluded; ^‘and,"" he added, 
his eyes flashing with indignation, the cruelties and 
abuse which have been perpetrated in that asylum are a 
blot upon and a disgrace to my country. I shall bestir 
myself in the matter immediately.” 

And he did most effectually. 

A year later he had the satisfaction of knowing that 
those unfortunate beings in that pauper institution were 
made as comfortable as it was possible for them to be in 
their lamentable condition. 

The buildings were thoroughly renovated, improve- 
ments in ventilation and drainage made, the inmates 
comfortably clothed and fed, and kindly treated by the 
large-hearted, whole-souled man whom the philantliropic 
doctor himself had recommended for the position. 

I do not see how you ha^^e ever lived through it all 
without becoming in truth a lunatic. Have you never 
had the least opportunity to escape?” said Dr. Anthony, 
regarding his friend with something of wonder. 

i^^ever. For two years, or ever since I recovered 
my reason, I have been constantly on the alert; but I 
have been confined and watched night and day. Several 
times I have appealed to visitors, but they were always 
accompanied by G^rigg, who told them that it was a trick 
of mine to pretend I was all right; consequently they 
gave no heed to me. Two or three times I have been 
upon the point of knocking the wretch down with my 
chair, but he was too quick for me, and being more 
powerful than I, I could accomplish nothing in a strug- 
gle with him.” 

You gaje him a fine thrashing to-day, however,” re- 
turned Dr. Anthony, with a laugh. 

Yes,” Howard answered, his eyes flashing with ex- 
citement at the remembrance. Seeing you, and feel- 
ing that you would never rest until you had accomplished 
my liberation, lent me both courage and strength. I 
took him entirely unawares, tripped him, and getting 
possession of his whip, the coward was at my mercy, and 
I think I did give him something to make him remem- 
ber me for some time to come. ” 


m 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


^^And you have heard nothing from your wife and 
cliild? You have known notliiiig of them all this time?^^ 
Dr. Forsvth asked compassionately. 

JSTo, sir, nothing/' Howard answered, huskily and 
with a trembling lip. 

Where do 3^011 suppose they are?" asked his friend. 

^‘It they are— living," he said with an eifort, I pre- 
sume they are in New York with my sister, Mrs. Laiig- 
ley. I think it would be natural for Mrs. Montgomery 
to go direct to her upon her return; and, of course, un- 
der the circumstances, she would do everything that she 
could for her in her trouble." 

He really believed that Helen would relent, and for- 
get all her bitterness and opposition to his marriage, 
when she should learn of his mysterious disappearance, 
and that her woman's heart would go out to Cecile with 
sisterly sympathy and kindness. 

I presume, however," he muttered a moment after, 
looking exceedingly grave, ^‘^that they have all given 
mo up as dead. They would be likely to feel that noth- 
ing but death would keep me from them." 

George Anthony started up at this, saying with ani- 
mation : 

“ Give me your sister's address, Montgomery, and I 
will go immediately and cable to her tliat you are safe, 
well, and will shortly return. They shall remain in sus- 
pense no longer." 

Howard arose, went to a desk that was in the room, 
and himself wrote the message which we have already 
seen in the hand of Mrs. Langley, and which so greatly 
disturbed her. 

That same evening he wrote long letters to both his 
wife and sister, giving them something of the history of 
the three weary years during which he had been sepa- 
rated from them, and, as we have seen, inclosing the letter 
to his wife in the one which he had sent to Mrs. Langley. 

But, alas, for poor Cecile, she never received that 
precious missive, and we know that Helen herself did 
not get either cablegram or letters until long after they 
had been sent. 


A TJiU-E AJRISTOCBAT. 


217 


Four weeks after Howard’s liberation tlie so-called Dr. 
Grigg was brought to trial, and it is almost needless to 
state that it did not take a very lengthy hearing to con- 
vict him of the charges brought against him. 

Dr. Anthony, although somewhat anxious to return to 
this country, remained to identify his friend, and to tes- 
tify to his irreproachable character as a citizen of the 
United States. 

His innocence ot the alleged crime for which he had 
been so unjustly sentenced three years before was proved 
beyond a doubt; for, besides the doctor’s testimony, and 
the fact that Howard’s wallet had been found upon the 
person of Grigg, alias Jakey Jackson, in the presence of 
three witnesses, his letter of credit had also been discov- 
ered among his private papers. 

The wretch had not dared to make use of it in any 
way, and, for some reason, had neglected to destroy it. 
Thus it not only proved very important as documentary 
evidence, but relieved Howard from all unpleasantness 
regarding financial affairs. 

The ex-keeper was convicted of several crimes, and 
sentenced to transportation for life, and Howard Mont- 
gomery, his innocent victim, went out a free man once 
more. 

Meantime he was extremely anxious, because he had 
not heard one word in reply to the letters he had sent 
home. 

“ Surely they must have received them,” he said, while 
talking the matter over with his friend, and his face was 
almost convulsed with pain, ^^and there has been ample 
time for a reply. Can anything have happened to them? 
Are they all sick, or — dead?” and he shuddered as this 
dreadful possibility flashed through his mind. 

Don’t think of anything so distressing as that,” 
George Anthony returned, while his groat heart ached 
for him. 

A terrible fear haunts me,” Howard answered, weari- 
ly; “but surely it seems as if I have suffered enough 
without being still further afflicted;” and it seemed to 
his tortured heart as if the years which he had spent in 


218 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


his vile prison had not been half so long as the days 
which now dragged so heavily by. 

Montgomery, man, you will work yourself into a nerv- 
ous fever if you do not exercise more patience and self- 
control,'’^ Dr. Anthony said again and again, as he walked 
the floor by da}^, and tossed sleeplessly upon his bed by 
night, and he was really growing to feel alarmed at his 
condition. 

know it,'’" he returned, with a wan smile, ^^but 
this suspense is simply unbearable; just think — I have 
been separated from my wife and child, and in utter 
ignorance of all pertaining to them, for three long years. 
I do not know whether they are living or dead; I have 
written several times; no word comes to tell me aught 
concerning them, and I am driven wild with doubt and 
fear.'’" 

know it is hard on you, old fellow, and it is very 
strange that you have heard nothing; but I fear you are 
tormenting yourself unnecessarily — it is possible that 
your sister has changed her place of residence, and your 
letters have not reached her,’" ids friend said, trying to 
suggest something to calm his anxious fears. 

‘‘That may be true!"" Howard cried, grasping eagerly 
at the idea. “ I wish you had thought of it before, and 
I would have written to my lawyer to ascertain her 
whereabouts for me; but it is too late now, for to- 
morrow we sail."" He, however, had a more comfort- 
able voyage for this happy thought. 

Six weeks from the day of his release from his 
wretched prison and the power of his tormentor 
Howard Montgomery landed in New York. 

He was worn and haggard, for the voyage had, at 
best, been almost unendurable, and a thousand fears 
had beset him all the way. 

He was the first to spring ashore when the steamer 
touched her pier, and without waiting to take leave of 
his friend, or giving a thought to anything save his 
dear ones, he sprang into the first carriage that he could 
find, and was driven with all possible speed to No. — 
Fifth Avenue, 


' ' ' . ■ i,-'. ’/ ■< >/ 


A TBir^ ABISTOOBAT. 


219 


He mounted the marble steps two at a time, and rang 
the bell, for one glance at the door-plate told him that 
the name of Langley was still there. 

^^Is Mrs. Langley at home?^' he questioned tremb- 
lingly of the waiter — a strange one — who opened the 
door. 

Yes, Mrs. Langley was at home,^'’ he said, wonder- 
ing if he was some relative of the coloneFs to be thus 
excited and overcome. 

‘‘Is Mrs. Montgomery here?^^ was the next eager 
query. The waiter stared. 

He had never even heard of Mrs. Montgomery. 

“Ho,'’^he replied, “he did not think the lady was 
there.” Howard^s heart sank. 

“ Tell Mrs. Langley that her brother has arrived, and 
wishes to see her immediately,” and with a face like 
marble, the perspiration, like great drops of dew, stand- 
ing upon it, he pushed by the man and Avent directly to 
Mrs. Langley^’s parlor, never once thinking that he had 
come like one raised from the dead, into that house of 
death; never dreaming that that woman upstairs, in 
the solitude of her own chamber, had spent the whole 
night plotting for the rum of his idolized wife, and for 
the blighting of his every earthly hope. 


220 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT^ 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE HUSBAHD'S DESPAIR. 

I T MAY be presumed that when Howard sent up word 
to his sister that he was waiting to see her, it did 
not tend to quiet her excited nerves. 

brother come!^^ she cried, shrilly, when the ser- 
vant delivered the message. 

For a moment a deadly faintness seized her, and she 
sank back upon the pillows from which she had started 
at the information. 

But she rallied almost immediately. 

It was no time to give way to weakness or fear, for she 
had a desperate purpose to carry out, and she would 
need all her strength and all her will-power to sustain 
her through it. 

Go down,’’ she said to the maid, and tell him that 
I will be with him directly.'’^ 

For a moment after the girl closed the door she was 
ghastly, and her teeth chattered nervously. 

She sat up in bed and pressed her hands hard against 
her temples, looking wildly about, as if she longed to 
escape the trying ordeal before her. 

^"WJiat shall I do!” she cried, excitedly. Howard 
is all that I have left now. I hate her — the child is 
dead. If I could only keep him all to myself — if I 
could only manage so that he would never find her! I 
toill do it.” 

And murmuring these disconnected sentences, while 
her cunning brain was teeming with sch.emes to accom- 
plish her evil purpose, she hastily dressed herself, and 
then descended to meet and welcome the w^anderer 
home. 

As soon as she opened the door of the parlor, where 


A AJilSTOCBAT. 


221 


he was impatiently pacing back and forth, she sprang 
forward, with a glad cry, and threw herself into his 
arms. She saw how pale and worn he was; she saw that 
his once raven ‘locks were thickly sprinkled with silver, 
and wondered what had caused tlie sad change in him. 
She saw that his eyes were glowing with eager inquiry 
and repressed excitement, and knew that it was not of 
her that he was tliinking, or of his long separation from 
her, but of his wife and little one, and she resolved to 
hold those dreaded questions trembling upon his lips at 
bay as long as possible. 

She wound her arms about his neck; she called him 
by all the fond names which she was accustomed to use 
during the days of their childhood, and then apparently 
overcome by her emotion at this unexpected meeting, 
she burst into tears, and wept so violently that she could 
not have ans\vered any questions if he had asked them. 

^^Oh, Howard!"^ she said, after awhile, between her 
sobs, to think that you should come just at this time 
when I need you most. William died two da}s ago — 
was thrown from his carriage nearly a fortnight since, 
and knew nothing afterward.’’^ 

A fresh buTst of weeping here drowned even Howard^s 
expression of dismay and surprise. 

I was in California,'’^’ she resumed, at length, visit- 
ing Fanny Scherman, and they telegraphed for me; 
but I did not get here in season to see him before he 
died.^^ 

‘'‘Then you did not get my letters?'" Howard began, 
but she interrupted him. 

“ JSTo, I only found them yesterday. William was 
away all the time I was gone, and no one knew my ad- 
dress. Oh, dear! I am nearly distracted with all this 
trouble and excitement;" and another shower followed 
this assertion. 

Howard’s patience was well-nigh exhausted, but while 
she was in that state he could do nothing but try to 
soothe her. 

He knew, of course, that if his sister had but just re- 
ceived his letters, Cecile was still in the dark concerning 


222 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


his fate; was, perhaps, believing him dead, and still 
mourning for him. 

Helen, he said, at length, when he could bear her 
weeping no longer, where is Cecile?^^ 

But she seemed to be even more greatly distressed 
than before at this question. 

Helen Langley had never wept so much in her life, 
and now she was only seeking to gain time. Bad as she 
was at heart, she instinctively recoiled from carrying 
out the plot which she had been maturing ever since re- 
ceiving her brother's letters. 

Oh, Howard! my poor brother! how can I tell you? 
It seems as if all our trouble comes at once,^^ she 
sobbed. 

Howard instantly sat erect and put her away from 
him. His face was as white as chalk, and his chest 
rose and fell with deep, heavily-drawn breaths. 

‘^^What do you mean?^’ he cried, hoarsely, while there 
was a rushing sound in his ears, and it seemed as if 
hammers were beating upon his temples. 

But she was trembling violently, her whole body 
was swayed with sobs, and she appeared unable to tell 
him. 

He laid hold of her wrists, and drew her hands away 
from her face. 

Helen, have you no mercy upon me?^^ he said 
sternly; ‘^fell me at once, and do not keep me in this 
torturing suspense.'’^ 

Can you bear it, Howard?” Mrs. Langley asked, 
lifting her eyes piteously to his face. 

“1 cannot bear to wait; tell me where my wife is,” 
and his voice was strained and hoarse. 

She threw her arms again about his neck, and hid her 
face upon his shoulder, because she could not meet his 
anguished eyes while she told her horrible tale. 

‘^Howard,” she said, sadly, “^she can be your wife 
no longer; she belongs to another now.” 

He threw her from him with a despairing cry — a cry 
that rang in her ears long afterward. 

“ You cannot mean it,” he said, with ashen lips. 

Cecile the wife of another?” 


A TBirU AJ^ISTOCJ^AT, 


223 


She would never have known the voice, it was so un- 
natural and full of misery, while his face was perfectly 
frightful to look upon, and she began to fear that she 
Avas carrying things too far; but it was too late to retreat 
now. 

And for Howard Montgomery, life seemed like a 
bitter mockery to him now. With all his anxiety and 
fear regarding his dear ones, he had never thought of 
anything like this. 

Helen cre^ot close to him again, but he could not 
bear her to touch him — he recoiled from her proffered 
sympathy. 

^^Of course,'’’ she returned, ^^she cannot legally be the 
wife of another as long as you are alive and have returned; 
but — but — she believed you were dead, and — she is 
living with a Dr. Mortimer, in San Francisco --^ome one 
Avhom she met, I believe, when she returned from 
Europe, and who was very kind to hev;” and the Avicked 
Avoman told this cruel falsehood Avith every appearance 
of reluctance and soitoav at having such dreadful tidings 
to reveal. 

The Avretched man boAved his head upon the arm of the 
sofa, and his whole frame shook Avith the agony Avhich 
he could not control, Avhile his sister sat by and Avit- 
nessed it without a twinge of remorse for the suffering 
she Avas causing. 

If she could but make him believe this, and file a 
petition for a divorce, she Avould be amply revenged 
upon Cecile for her defiance in the past. 

Hoav long is it since — since this thing happened?” 
Howard at length asked. 

‘‘Jt is only about fiA^e or six Aveeks since she went to 
San Francisco, but I do not know hoAv long she has been 
contemplating the step.” 

''You do not know, Helen? Wh^ don’t you knoAv?” 
her brother demanded, regarding her searchiiigly. 

"Because she has never confided to me any of her 
plans,” she ansAvered, proudly, and Avith rising color. 

" Have you not been interested in Oecile since she 
returned?” he asked. 


224 


A TRUE AJRI8T0GRAT. fl 

yes/" Mrs. Langley said glibly, ''but slie never 1 
forgave me for opposing your marriage with her, and she -'I 
scorned every oiler which I made after her return. I jr 

wanted to take the baby "" 

My baby — what of "her?"" Howard interrupted sud- 
denly. ’i; 

In his agony, caused by what he had heard regarding J 
his wife, he had almost lost sight of the fact of his child"s ;■ 
existence. I 

^‘ Howard — she is — dead."" | 

He put out his hand as if to ward off a blow, and she i 
recoiled as if he had struck her as she saw his face. ;; 

It was horrible to sit there and witness his suffering, / 
but she had determined upon her plan of action, and 
she would not swerve from it; while, although she ; 
did not really know that Daisy was not Jiving, she J 
really believed that she must be dead and buried long I 
before this. . -j, 

They had told her that she was dying when she went 
to inquire, and, of course, she thought it would be im- 
possible for her to recover from a relapse of that dread 
disease. 

It was almost more than mortal man could bear to sit 
there and have all his hopes thus shattered. 

Cecile gone — won by another — lost to him forever; his 
child— that beautiful, blue-eyed, sunny-haired darli ig — : 
dead ! and after the exile and suffering of the past three 
years to return and find himself shorn of all that made 
life worth the living! Surely no one had ever had such 
a cup of misery to drink before. 

With his hand pressed hard over his eyes, and his 
heart growing numb within his bosom, he sat still and ■ 
tried to face it — to realize just what was before him. 

“ Helen,"" he said, after awhile, I cannot talk — I can ’ 
scarcely think, and I cannot bear much more; but tell , 
me in as few words as possible all that has occurred to 
Cecile since she returned — or, at least, all that you know / 
about her."" 

And the cunning tale which she wove for his tingling ^ 
ears would have done credit to the most extravagant | 
romancer of the age. J 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


225 


She represented that as soon as she had learned of her 
return she had an interview with her, offering to befriend 
her in any way that she could; but all her overtures had 
been indignantly refused, and Cecile had treated her with 
a haughtiness and overbearance that was intolerable. 

^‘ That is not at all like Oecile,"^ Howard said, with a 
troubled look. 

But I tell you she has never forgiven me for not be- 
ing present at your marriage, and for my opposition to 
it,^"* reiterated Mrs. Langley. offered her money 
when I found she was in trouble 

^‘You offered her money I” interrupted Howard in 
astonishment. There was plenty of money for her 
without the necessity, of borrowing from any one."’"’ 

But Mr. Griswold, your lawyer, died just about the 
time of her return, and as his affairs were in such a com- 
plicated condition, Cecile could get nothing, Mrs. 
Langley explained with some uneasiness. 

“ Mr. Griswold deadP^ her brother cried. 

Was everybody dying? Was this good man, one of 
his best friends, gone too? Was he to lose everything 
that he prized out of his life? 

Yes,^^ Helen returned; ^^he died quite suddenly — 
was ill only a few days; and then the colonel, thinking 
we must hear from you before long, took the manage- 
ment of your business interests. Of course, while all 
this was happening Cecile needed money, but, as I told 
you, she indignantly rejected all my advances. She was 
very haughty and independent, and went away and hid 
herself from us.^^ 

‘‘You should have settled a handsome income upon 
her,^^ her brother said, sternly. 

It was entirely unlike his wife to conduct herself in 
any such manner as his sister represented, and he could 
not understand it at all. 

^‘How could we do that, Howard, when we did not 
know where she was?^"* Helen asked innocently. 

“ But what supported her? She had no money of any 
consequence when we left England — not even enough to 
pay her passage,'' he said, greatly disturbed. 


226 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


I don’t know what supported her,” Helen answered 
with suspicious emphasis; “^but she told me that this 
Dr. Mortimer, who was so kind to her during the voyage, 
lent her money to pay her passage.” 

She told you this,” and then refused to take what 
you offered her to cancel her obligations to that man !” 
Howard Montgomery said, astonished. 

Helen,” he said, a moment later, there is some- 
thing about all this that I do not understand. What 
you have told me is entirely at variance with Cecile’s 
character. Are you sure you are keeping nothing 
back ?” 

^^What should I keep back?” she questioned. 
afterward discovered by accident \^iiiere she lived, and, 
supposing her to be in reduced circumstances, and feel- 
ing that it was no way for your child to live, I went to 
her and offered to take Daisy, and do for her exactly as 
if she were my own. She insultingly scorned my ofPer, 
as before, and said she was supporting herself and did 
not need any assistance from me. She was living in a 
pretty way; her house was a perfect little bower of 
beauty; and since I learned that she had gone to San 
Francisco to live with this doctor, I have come to the 
conclusion that he must have taken care of her all 
along.” 

Howard covered his face again and groaned. 

Could it be possible, he asked himself, that her heart 
could have been so easily won from him? — that this 
strange doctor, whoever he might be, had acquired such 
an influence over her that she would consent to place 
herself under such obligations to him? 

He remembered how she had once said to him. 

There is nothing in the world I could not bear better 
than to lose you or your love.” 

Had she so soon forgotten him and his devotion to 
her? Was it possible that he could have been so mis- 
taken in her character? he asked himself, while a 
strange bitterness began to creep into his heart against 
her. 

He had fondly believed that she could never change — 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


227 


that had she watched him sicken and die, and followed 
him to his last resting-place, her heart never would have 
swerved in its allegiance to him, and that she would have 
turned a deaf ear to every entreaty from another, and 
gone to her grave alone, loving only him. 

But now, according to his sister’s story, she had clung 
to the first stranger who had admired and been attentive 
to her; she had laid herself under heavy obligations to 
him — obligations which made his face burn with indig- 
nation, and his lips to curl with scorn; and finally, with- 
out positively knowing what her husband’s fate had 
been, she had given herself into this man’s keeping 
and gone away with him. 

He did not dream that she could support herself — 
that her gentle, dependent nature could rise to meet 
and overcome the storm of fate alone; and so, blinded by 
disappointment and misery, he was forced to accept his 
sister’s story as truth. 

Have you never seen her since you went to propose 
to adopt Daisy?” he asked. 

‘^Not until I met her at the house of a friend in San 
Francisco,” Mrs. Langley returned, her face flushing 
hotly at the remembrance of that last interview. She 
was fully as overbearing as she had been before, and I 
assure you the meeting was anything but a pleasant 
one.” 

Have you ever renewed your offer to give her an in- 
come from my property?” Howard questioned. 

^‘Yes, once; but she said she was happy to tell me 
that she had sufficient for all her needs — that even if 
she never had one dollar of your fortune, Daisy would 
h^ve no mean dowry when she reached her majority.” 

Again Howard groaned; he could not fail to believe 
now that Cecile had been provided for in some other 
way than by her own efforts. She was a delicate, 
fragile girl who had never been taught to labor or de- 
pend upon herself at all — how could she, then, go forth 
into the world alone, and battle for her living and win 
a competence? 

Still he could not quite understand why she should 


228 


A TRUE ABTSTOGRAT. 


refuse to accept what rightfully belonged to her of his 
property, unless it was from a sense of guilt, and a re- 
luctance to use his money wheii her heart had turned to 
another. 

'MVhen — when were they — married?'^ he asked, a 
shiver coming over him. 

I don’t know. I do not even know that they are 
married at all,” Helen Langley began, maliciously; but 
he interrupted her almost fiercely. 

''Don’t dare to insinuate anything of that kind!” he. 
said. "She was as pure as an angel, and if she has 
been won by another, she has given herself away honor- 
ably, believing that I am dead.” 

" Yes, she told me she thought you were dead as soon 
as she returned; but whether she is married to him or 
not, I saw their shadows upon one of the curtains of 
their room, as I was passing one evening the house where 
they board.” 

Howard made a gesture of repugnance. He could not 
bear to have her go thus immediately into details; it 
tortured him. 

"And my Daisy — when did she die?” he asked, with 
a sob of pain. 

"About that, time; she was attacked with diphtheria 
in its worst form. I was very anxious, of course, and 
went everyday to inquire about her — she was child, 

and I felt that I had a perfect right to do so. The last 
time I went they told me she was dying, and — that was 
poor Daisy’s last night on earth,” the false-hearted 
woman concluded, with every appearance of grief. 

"Did you see her after — after it was all over?” 

" No; I received a telegram, that very evening, sayipg 
that the colonel had been fatally injured, and I was 
obliged to come away immediately. Oh, Howard,” she 
continued, going nearer to him and leaning against him, 
" I know all this is dreadful to you — all that you had 
has been taken from you; and I, too, am now left 
alone; we have only one another now, and we must try 
to comfort and live for each other in the future.” 

He could not bear one word of sympathy. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


229 


A cry of despair burst from him. He put her quickly 
away, arose and left the room without a word. 

She heard him go upstairs to the chamber that he 
used to occupy whenever he was her guest, and shut 
and lock the door, and she knew that if his heart 
was broken, she alone had done it; but there was no 
sorrow, no regret in her heart for the ruin which she 
was working. % 

She arose wearily from the sofa where they had been 
sitting; the excitement and sight of his misery had well- 
nigh exhausted her also. 

Well, that ordeal is over at last, and I have only 
anticipated events a little, after all. Any one could see 
that that handsome doctor worshiped her; and with 
Daisy dead, it is easy to see that he will offer himself, 
and Cecile, worn out with trouble and watching, will 
be only too glad to find somebody to take care of her. 
If I can only make Howard believe it, and persuade 
him to get a divorce, I shall be able to keep my brother 
to myself, and be amply revenged upon her. How she 
would rave and tear those golden locks if she found, 
all too late, that Howard had returned alive and well!’"' 

And with these malicious thoughts in her heart Mrs. 
Langley also sought the solitude of her chamber, to plot 
still further for the ruin of the woman whom she hated. 


230 


A mCTB AUlSTOCBAT, 


CHAPTEE XXVIII. 

SOliETHIiTG WROi^iG SOMEWHERE.^"' 

T he next few days were dreary enough at the 
Langley mansion. 

Arrangements had to bo made for the funeral and 
burial of Colonel Langley, Mrs. Langley was busily en- 
gaged in ordering her mourning, and Howard, left to 
himself, neither ate nor slept in his wretchedness, acd 
looked more like a ghost than a human being. 

News of his return spread like wild-fire through the 
circle in which he used to move, and his friends — many 
of them excited by curiosity and some by real friendly 
feeling — flocked to see him. 

But he would admit none of them; the thought of 
meeting familiar faces and being obliged to talk of his 
trouble was more than he could bear, and everything 
jarred upon his sensitive nerves. 

Only Dr. Anthony, who insisted upon seeing him, 
was allowed to come into his presence, and, the sight 
of even his sympathetic face nearly drove him frantic. 

My life is a failure — it is ruined, and I wish yoiPd 
give me something to put an end to my misery he 
said, one day, as he wrung the young doctor’s hand until 
he nearly cried out with pain. 

^‘Have I not suffered enough?” he continued; ^^have 
I not borne all that human nature could be expected to 
bear during the last three years, without the addition of 
this crushing, damning burden?” 

He had been telling his friend the story that his sister 
had related to him, and he was so excited and unsprung 
that he hardly knew what he was saying. 

He forgot during these first hours of his wretchedness 
those calmly-spoken words of faith that he had uttered 


A TRUE ABISTOCEAT. 


231 


to Cecile when she had told him so long ago of her 
presentiment of coming trouble; he had said, “ Trials will 
doubtless come to us in some form or other — 1 expect 
them; and if God sends them to us I trust we shall both 
bear them in the right spirit, for we know whom ‘ He 
loveth He chasteneth/-’^ 

But he had never thought that trouble could come in 
any form so dreadful as this. 

If she were dead” he cried, I could bear it better; 
but for us both to live and to feel that we can never be 
anything to each other again will be a living death to 
me. Oh, to think she could have married another with- 
out positive 'proof ol my death! — to let another wdn her 
love from me when I have idolized her! — when I liave 
trusted and believed that nothing could ever inaKe her 
forget me! I tell you, George, the shock to both love 
and trust is more than I can bear. 

‘‘And my baby — my blue-eyed Daisy — is deadV' he 
went on, speaking like one who was uUerly despairing. 
“Did you ever hear anything like it, Anthony? Did 
you ever know of any one who was crushed by such 
an avalanche of woe? Oh, Heaven! I never dreamed 
that such utter desolation could sweep over the heart of 
man, and yet live I” 

He could, indeed, bear no more, and, bowing his 
head upoiii^liis hands, great sobs shook liis frame, and he 
wept as only a strong nature can weep. 

It was well for him that his friend had forced his way 
to him, and that he had poured out his sorrows to him, 
for wdth all that bitterness pent up much longer in his 
heart he must have gone mad. 

Dr. Anthony could find no words of comfort to offer 
to a grief like this — he could only sit silently by and let 
it have its course. Consolation of any kind would have 
seemed but a mockery. 

He had been greatly startled and shocked upon hear- 
ing Howard’s sad story — almost as much so as he had 
been when he had discovered him to be an inmate of 
that pauper asylum in the outskirts of Liverpool. 

He was not satisfied or convinced, either. He had 


232 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


seen Cecile^s picture — a lovely face on porcelain that 
Howard always carried, and which, strange to say, had 
been left to him during his imprisonment, and had been 
the only gleam of comfort that he had had during those 
long years of trial — and, looking into those deep blue 
eyes, so faithfully painted there, he could not bring his 
heart to believe that she could be so fickle, so forgetful 
of her love for him, that she would have been lightly 
won by another, "without positive proof of her husband’s 
death. 

But the facts seemed to be so plain. Mrs. Langley 
affirmed that she kneio her sister-in-law was with this 
Dr. Mortimer, that she had snen them together in their 
own room, and he felt that things certainly looked badly 
for Howard’s peace of mind for the future. 

Several weeks went by and Howard still remained a 
recluse, and was worn nearly to a skeleton by his con- 
stant and rebellious grieving. Mrs. Langley also denied 
herself to all visitors — seeing no one but this one friend 
who remained so faithful to her brother, and in whom 
she was beginning to feel a strange interest herself. 

' But the monotony of this way of living began to be 
irksome to her, and she longed for some change. Be- 
sides, she began to wish that Howard would arouse him- 
self and look into her husband’s afl'airs, as she naturally 
felt some curiosity regarding her future finances. 

She consulted Dr. Anthony upon the propriety of try- 
ing to get Howard to accompany her to some watering- 
place, hoping this might change the tenor of his thoughts 
somewhat, and help to build up his shattered system. 

‘‘It will be the very best thing that you can do,” he 
had told her; adding, impressively: “ Something must be 
done immediately, for he cannot endure this kind of life 
much longer;” and then, emboldened by her confidence 
in him, he ventured to ask her some questions regarding 
Cecile’s second marriage. 

The more he thought about the matter the less satis- 
fied he felt. He had a feeling that something was wrong 
someivhere, and he had about made up his mind that he 
should go to San Francisco and sift the whole thing for 
himself just as ^oon as he could leave his friend. 


A ABISTOCBAT. 


■233 


But Mrs. Langley painted Cecile as a pretty, simple 
girl, having no mind or stability of chiiracter, and as one 
wholly iintitted to be the wife of such a man as Howard 
Montgomery. She spoke freely and frankly of her op- 
position to their marriage upon those grounds, but said, 
charitably, that Howard had been so fascinated by her 
beauty that he would not be influenced. She spoke of 
her interviews with her after her return, and made her 
appear so unreasonable and unlovely, so vindictive and 
unforgiving, on account of her objection to her union 
with her brother, that the young physician was forced to 
believe that his friend had, after all, been blinded by 
love, and worshiped an ideal instead of a real woman. 

Helen Langley was very careful not to mention where 
Cecilc’s residence had been while she lived in New’ York, 
or that Martha, the Scotch girl who had accompanied 
her from Liverpool, had continued to live with her. She 
feared they might go there to make inquiries, and thus 
discover her duplicity. 

She, however, kept herself posted, and knew that 
Cecile had not returned yet, and she hoped to be able to 
get her brother away from New York; and once away, 
she meant to stay where there would be no danger of 
his meeting her if she did return. 

It is a terrible trial for Howard,” she said, tearfully, 
while talking with Dr. Anthony. ^Hf the poor girl 
really believed he was dead, she supposed she had a right 
to marry again; hut it is very unfortunate, for of course 
there can be nothing for him to do now but to obtain a 
divorce from her, and then notify this Dr. Mortimer to 
have this union legalized.” 

''Have you mentioned anything of the kind to your 
brother?” he asked, thinking it somewhat strange that 
in the midst of her own trials she should have arranged 
eveiything so thoughtfully for his future. 

Such a"^ thing had not occurred to him before, al- 
though he could but acknowledge that it seeemed to be 
the only proper course for him to pursue under the cir- 
cumstances. 

" I hinted it to him one day,” she answered, flushing, 


234 


A TRUE AEISTOGRAT. 


^^but he appeared to take no notice of what I said. 
Do you not think that he ought to take some such steps?^^ 

“ I do not know/^ George Anthony answered, gravely. 

Looking at the matter in the light in which she pre- 
sented it, it seemed as if it would be best; but as he re- 
membered those sweet, innocent eyes, that delicate, 
clear-cut face, with its marvelous beauty and sensitive 
mouth, his whole soul revolted at the thought. 

Why don’t you go to California and see for yourself 
just how matters are, before you take any decided steps 
toward ” 

Toward what?” Howard demanded, sharply; and 
Dr. Anthony regretted having spoken in the way he 
had. 

Toward — I mean against you wife.” 

Against her! How?” 

Your sister said something about obtaining a 
divorce,” he returned, desperately, seeing that he had 
committed himself beyond retreat. 

‘^1 wish Helen would attend to her own affairs and 
let me alone.” 

beg your pardon, Montgomery,” George Anthony 
interrupted, flushing scarlet, ^‘/should have let 3 ^ou 
alone. I should not have meddled with this delicate 
matter; but I am worried to death about you. You 
will really become a subject for a lunatic asylum if 
you don’t do something to set you mind at rest pretty 
soon.” 

^^Set my mind, at rest!” Howard said, with a bitter 
smile. Do you suppose that will ever be in this world ? 
But you need not apologize for your interest in me. I 
know it is genuine, and you have proved yourself a good 
friend to me. But as for ^ going to California to see for 
myself,’ do you think I could bear to meet her as the 
wife of another? I tell you it would kill me outright.” 

He arose and paced the floor with wild, uneven steps, 
staggering almost like a drunken man in his excitement 
at the thought. 

You say I shall be crazy,” he went on, ''if I remain 
this way long. I know it, but I sometimes think that 


A ABISTOOBAT. 


235 


would be better than the existence I now lead. I should 
iiot perhaps realize my misery so keenly. What shall 1 
do, Anthony?^' he cried, his voice rising to a wail, like 
the wind in a tempest. “Every hour that I live only 
serves to make me more wretched. I suppose some 
would tell me to go and claim my wife — that she is mine 
in the sight of the law — that she could be no other man’s 
wife while I live, and I could compel her to return to 
me if I chose. I know all this, but every instinct within 
me revolts from such a proceeding. If she has volun- 
tarily given herself to another, she could never be the 
same to me again; yet I long for her with a yearning 
that is consuming my very life. No, I shall do nothing. 
I shall never even obtain a divorce. I will live and die 
faithful to my vows to her, whatever she may have done. 
If my baby had lived, perhaps I might have thought difr 
ferently, for I should have wanted her. But it is better 
as it is,” he added, with a sigh that was almost a sob; 
“her mother could not have borne to part with her, and 
there would have been more trouble for us on that ac- 
count. AVas there ever a life so strangely cursed as 
mine, Anthony?” he asked, in conclusion. 

“I do not believe there ever was,” he answered, with 
a troubled face. 

“What shall I do — where shall I go to bury my mis- 
ery? Prescribe something if you can for me; a Lethe — 
oblivion — anythmg to ease this gnawing, devouring 
pain,” Howard pleaded, almost helplessly, for he was 
fast losing strength to endure. 

And George Anthony, looking at him with pitying, 
tearful eyes, said: 

“Howard, in all my life I have never felt so utterly 
powerless before a human being as I do before you. 
Your trouble is one which only God can cure.” 

“God!” the unhappy man repeated, a blank look 
stealing over his face, and speaking in a startled tone; 
“I believe that I have actually fora^otten that there is a 
God!” 

“Kemember, my friend, that He has said: ^When 
thou passeth through the waters, I will bo with thee; 


m 


A TnVJS ARISTOCRAT. 


and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; 
when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt not be 
burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.' 

George Anthony repeated this in a gentle, reverent 
voice, and Howard Montgomery bowed his head in hu- 
mility and contrition before the mild reproof. 

He had, indeed, fci’gotten that there was One above 
who ruled all things; he had forgotten everything save 
his own trouble and pain. 

He had been rebelling against his Father, smiting 
back the hand that was chastening him, perhaps for his 
own good, and he was stricken with remorse for his lack 
of faith and trust. 

George Anthony, seeing that he had stirred better 
thoughts within him, arose and went quietly out, leaving 
him alone with One whose healing power was far greater 
than that of any earthly comforter. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


23 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

OKLYA baby's SHOe! 

G O TO California and see for yourself." 

The idea was utterly repulsive to Howard, and if 
any one save George Anthony — his sister, even — had pro- 
posed such a thing to him, he would have indignantly 
rejected it on the spot. 

But the words haunted him continually; night and 
day they were constantly ringing in his ears. Go where 
he would, employ himself as he would in reading, writ- 
ing, sleeping or waking, it was always the same — Go to 
California and see for yourself." 

A spirit of fierce antagonism took possession of him; 
he became angry, irritable and nervous in consequence 
of it. 

‘‘Itoill not go," he reiterated again and again; and 
when at length his sister proposed a trip to Saratoga 
he readily acceded to it, hoping thus amid new scenes 
to rid himself of that haunting thought, and so to Sara- 
toga they went. 

Three days he remained there, and was even more 
restless than before; he could interest himself in noth- 
ing — he could enjoy nothing, while the gay company by 
which he was surrounded rasped and annoyed him ex- 
cessively. Every day he became more wan and haggard, 
and dejected, until Mrs. Langley grew alarmed for his 
health, and to fear that perhaps her wretched plotting 
might result in her brother's death. 

During the afternoon of the third day of their sojourn 
at the Springs he sought her and startled her with the 
declaration : 

Helen, I am going back to Xew York." 

What for?" she demanded, greatly disturbed. 


238 


A TEtTB AMISTOCMAT, 


‘‘Because this life of inaction will kill me quicker 
than anything else/^ he answered desperately. “ I must 
have something to do. I am going to try what effect 
iuorh will have. I am going into business of some 
kind.^^ 

“You are wild to think of such a thing, Howard, at 
this season of the year of all times, and in your present 
state of health, she replied, while a hundred possibili- 
ties flashed through her mind. 

Cecile was liable to return at any time; she knew that 
she must have left for San Francisco, very suddenly; 
consequently her business — if business she really had — 
mui?t be in an unsettled condition, and if she came back 
to New York she was likely to meet her husband. 

Martha, too, might meet him on the street, recognize 
him, and then all plans would be destroyed, and she 
herself brought to grief and shame. 

“It matters little about my health — it matters little 
about the season, he said, moodily; “employment of 
some kind I must have or I shall indeed be crazy. At 
all events I shall return to IJew York to-night.^'’ 

“What shall I do here, alone Mrs. Langley asked 
with an injured air. 

“ You have been here alone many times before, and 
I am no company for any one now, as you very well 
know. I do not think you will suffer for society, 
Helen, he replied, with something of sarcasm in his 
tone. ' 

She flushed. 

“ How will you live? where will you stay?^-* she asked, 
anxiously. 

“I shall manage well enough — do not worry about 
me. I shall take a room down-town somewhere near 
my office, and get my meals out.'^^ 

“I think I ought to return with you, and see that 
you take proper care of yourself,^" Mrs. Langley said, 
thoughtfully. 

“ I do not, Helen,^'’ Howard returned, decidedly; “ my 
object is to get away from everybody and everything that 
reminds me of the past; perhaps if I plunge into work 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


239 


I may be able to stop this dreadful thinking. I shall 
take hold of your aftairs at once, for they ought to be 
settled immediately now. No, stay where you 'are until 
you are ready to go home, then drop me a line and I will 
have the house put in order for you."” 

She saw it would be of no use to try to dissuade him 
from his purpose, and as she could not endure the 
thought of going back to the seclusion of her own home, 
she let him have his own way without more ado. 

And so he returned to New York that night, took an 
office in a busy portion of the city, and imagined that he 
was going to forget himself in work. 

But it was of no use — he could settle himself to noth- 
ing, even though he discovered the startling fact that 
Colonel Langley had been hopelessly involved at the 
time of his death, and that his sister's affairs were in a 
very bad condition. There was no peace for him, while 
it seemed as if a thousand demons were continually 
shouting at him: Go to California and see for your- 

self." 

Driven nearly beside himself, he said at last: 

‘^ril go; it can do no harm, and she need never know 
that I have been there. I will satisfy myself that every- 
thing is just as Helen has said, and then that will settle 
the matter. If she is happy amid her new surroundings 
I could never do anything to trouble her." So, dropping 
everything and telling nobody of his intention, Ite left 
one dark, rainy evening for San Francisco. 

It was now about the first of September, and some two 
months since Helen Langley had been summoned home 
to her dying husband, and there had been great changes 
in Mrs. Lawson's pleasant household during that time. 

It was night when Howard arrived in the great city of 
the far West, and he was so utterly worn out with the 
long, tedious journey, that he was glad to seek his bed 
immediately, where he dropped at once into a heavy 
slumber, which lasted until late the next morning. 
Then, in a fever of impatience — for was he not breath- 
ing the same air with his beloved? — he made a hasty 
breakfast, called, for a directory and looked up the name 


240 


A TBUB ARISTOCBAT. 


of Dr. Mortimer. He readily found the street and num- 
ber of his office, also where he resided, made a note of 
them, and then wandered forth upon a tour of investi- 
tion. 

Arriving at the physician's office, he rang the bell. 
He had determined to make him a call, ask him to make 
an examination of his physical condition, and measure 
the man who had robbed him of his darling, to ascertain 
if he was worthy of the prize he had won. He surely 
looked as if he needed medical advice, for he was worn 
almost to a shadow; his face was as devoid of color as 
marble, and the excitement and exertion of the morning 
had made him tremble and almost breathless. There 
was no answer, however, to his ring, and the office 
seemed deserted. Three times he pulled at the bell with 
the same result; then there was the sound of a sash being 
raised, and a tangled head was thrust out of a window 
above him. 

What do you want?” the voice of a woman asked, in 
no amiable tone. 

“^^To see Dr. Mortimer,” Howard answered. 

“Dr. Mortimer is deadF^ was the startling reply, and 
the window went down with* a bang. 

“^Dead!” Howard's white lips repeated mechanically. 

For a moment it seemed as if he had been shot 
through the heart, it gave such a violent bound in his 
bosom, and it was some time before he could command 
himself or gain strength sufficient to moVe away from 
the place. 

Dead! and Cecile — where was she? 

Was she left desolate again, to fight the battle of life 
by herself — friendless and alone in a strange portion of 
the country? 

A feeling of tender pity took possession of him. 

‘^^Poor child!'' he murmured; hers had been a sad, a 
cruel life during the last three years. 

‘"Shall I go to her?'' he asked himself, with a wildly 
throbbing heart. “Would it cause her more of pain 
than joy to see me now? And if I do, "what relation arn> 1 
willing to assume toward her 


A TBiri; ABZSTOCBAT. 


241 


They were hard questions to ask — they were harder to 
answer, and for a time he was too bewildered and excited 
to know what course to pursue. 

At last he decided to go to the physician^s residence, 
make some inquiries regarding his death, and trust to 
circumstances for the rest. 

Arriving at Mrs. Lawson-s house^ he asked to see that 
lady. 

Missis not at home, sah,^^ said the colored boy who 
answered the ring. 

Then, seeing Howard's perplexed look, he added, com- 
municatively: 

“ She hab gone into the country, sah, for a month — 
she done gone worn out wid de care and trouble. No- 
body but dis chile and de housekeeper here now.^^ 

Can you tell me anything about the physician who 
died here recently?'^ Howard asked, anxious to know 
something of the particulars, and hoping thus to learn 
where Cecile was. 

^‘^No, sah, not much,^^ returned the darkey. 
d^no berry much ^bout Massa Mortimer, ^cept he right 
down good man — ebry body lub and '’spect him. But 
dis darkey only came a day or two 'fore he died."’"’ 

^^Is the housekeeper in— can I see her?"’"’ Howard in- 
quired. 

He did not like to appear too curious before a servant 
like this. 

No, sah; she hab gone to market,'’^ was the discour- 
aging reply. 

How long is it since Dr. Mortimer died and he 
slipped a piece of silver into the boy^s hand as he put 
the question. 

Most a week — he was buried three days ago, sah, 
said the darkey, with an appreciative grin, as he re- 
ceived the money. 

^‘^And — and his family — his friends — where are they?” 

He could not endure it; he must know something of 
Cecile, although the words almost choked him as he 
uttered them. 

^^Dor, sah! the poh man ha4nT any friends, 'cept his 


242 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


brodder and de beautiful lady, who left de same day ob 
de funeral/^ 

The beautiful lady! 

That must be Oecile, and she had probably gone home 
with the doctor^s brother for the present. 

Howard put his hand to his head in a bewildered way, 
while an expression of pain swept over his face. 

There was an uncontrollable longing in his heart to 
look just once more upon her face, and he was bitterly 
disappointed; he did not realize until that moment how 
much he had hoped to see her, even though he had not 
intended to seek her. 

Where did they go?” he asked, trying to steady his 
shaking voice and lips. 

^‘Do no, sah; dis nigger didnT hear ^em say,” the 
boy returned, with a glance of pity into the white, 
pained face before him. 

That bright piece of money had won his heart, and 
his sympathies were aroused for this friend of the dead 
man’s — as he believed him to be — who had come too 
late. 

‘^^Massa a friend ob de doctor’s, and he hab come too 
late,” he said, but p’raps he would like to take a look 
into Massa Mortimer’s rooms — dey just as he left ’em.”. 

Being alone in the house at that moment he was em- 
boldened to be obliging. 

Howard seized upon the proposition eagerly. 

Of course he was the friend of any one who had been 
kind to Oecile. 

Yes, I am a friend, and I have come too late, it 
seems. I should like to look into his rooms,” he said, 
huskily. 

He grew almost blind as he stepped into the hall and 
thought he was in the house — that he should see the 
very rooms — that his darling had occupied last. 

The servant led the way upstairs, Howard following, 
and opened the door of the parlor which Oecile had oc- 
cupied during her sojourn in San Francisco; and as the 
unhappy husband entered he felt almost as if he was 
standing in the presence of death, everything was so 
fffcill, the light so subdued, and the air so heavy. 


A TBUB AHISTOOHAT. 


243 


He sat down in a cliair, for he was so weak that he 
could not stand; his heart was beating like a sledge- 
hammer in his bosom, his ears rang with a sound like 
that of roaring waters, and if he could have laid down 
and died there also* where her feet had trod, he would 
have breathed out his life without a regret. 

He was so weary with his pain, and he knew that 
Cecile, having been the wife of another, could never be 
the same to him again. 

The bell rang while he sat there, and the kind-hearted 
darkey, with a pitying glance at the suffering man and 
a hasty “ Beg pardon, sah,"*^ disappeared to answer it. 
Left alone, Howard looked curiously around the room. 

It was handsomely, even luxuriously furnished, and 
many little tasteful adornments still remained to testify 
of Oecile’s presence there. 

There were several fine pictures upon the walls, a rare 
statue or two, and a number of vases and ornaments. 

Howard staggered to his feet, and moved about me- 
chanically to look: at them; but he was never able after- 
ward to recall the subject of a single picture, his mind 
was so filled with Cecile and with his own misery. 

He was treading the same carpet that her feet had 
pressed; he was breathing the same air that she had 
breathed; he had sat upon the same chair, and his eyes 
rested upon the same objects; but there was no comfort 
in it; it only made him feel more keenly what he had 
lost. 

He peeped in at the bedroom door, but the blinds were 
closed, and the room wore a gloomy aspect that made 
him shiver. 

Here, doubtless, the doctor had died, and here, too, in 
all probability, his child had breathed her last. 

He retreated, and shut the door again with a groan of 
pain. 

Suddenly, as he was passing the mantel, his eye was 
transfixed by an object that made him cry out again. 

It was a baby's shoe! — a little blue kid shoe, worn at 
the heel and toe, but still retaining the shape of the tiny 
foot that had worn it. 


244 


A TBirjSl ABISTOCIiAT. 


He caught it to his breast with an almost frantic 
gesture. 

It is niinel^^ he whispered, hoarsely. '^It ts mine/^ 
he repeated, as if contending with some one for the pos- 
session of it. 

It was pitiful to hear the hard, dry sobs which shook 
the strong man through and through as he pressed that 
little shoe to his lips, and felt as if his heart would burst 
in twain. 

He knew that it had belonged to his Daisy — to his 
darling, who was dead, and henceforth it would be the 
most precious thing in the world to him, while it thrilled 
him with such tender love, yet such deep despair, that 
he wondered if any one in the whole world had ever 
been so utterly wretched as he was at that moment. 

There was no other article in either room to tell him 
that his wife and child had ever been there, and yet the 
very atmosphere seemed pervaded by their presence. 

He stood like one in a trance, his head bowed, his 
hands reverently clasping that tiny shoe, until he heard 
steps on the stairs, and knew that the servant 'was re- 
turning, and that he must go. 

Then hastily thrusting the little treasure that he had 
found into his bosom, he sat down again and tried to 
compose himself. 

^•'It is no robbery, he said; ^^no one has so good a 
right to it as he thought, pressing it close against his 
heart. 

^^Eeady to go down, sah?^^ the darkey asked, as he 
entered, and speaking in a subdued tone as he noted the 
traces of deep emotion upon Howard’s face. 

^^Eeckon he must be a brudder, or cousin, or some- 
thing, to feel so pow’ful bad,” he soliloquized. 

‘^Yes, I am ready.” Howard returned, and silently 
followed him from the room. 

At the lower door he put another piece of money in 
the boy’s hand, and then, with a word of thanks for his 
kindness, he went away. 

He had longed to ask something about the death of 
his child, and concerning Cecile, but he could not com- 


A TBVjS; AHISTOOBAT. 


245 


mand himself sufficiently; and perhaps, after all, the 
boy would know nothing about Daisy, as he had only 
been there so short a time, and he did not care to betray 
anything of his trouble to curious eyes. 

‘‘It cannot matter, he sighed, as he turned his step 
toward his hotel; “ it would only keep my wounds bleed- 
ing, and I cannot bear much more.^^ 


Yet, if he could have known where his child had been 
laid, it would have comforted him somewhat to have 
gone to that little grave and laid some tribute upon it 
expressive of the tender love that was surging within his 
heart for her. 


246 


A TBITJSI AHISTOaHAT. 


CHAPTEE XXX. 

SHORN OF HER GLORY. 

M eanwhile Helen Langley was playing the 
part of an interesting widow at Saratoga, with 
her bombazine and heavy crepe, her dainty caps and 
deeply-bordered handkerchiefs. 

She was a strikingly handsome woman, and wherever 
she went she was sure to attract attention. Tall, 
willowv in form, with a proudly poised head, a clear, 
brilliant complexion, hair like jet and eyes like black 
diamonds, and with an undisputed position and the 
reputation of possessing an exhaustless purse, she could 
not fail to be a mark for admiring eyes in any place. 

But she had not a suspicion of what her brother was 
about, for she had not heard from him for three weeks, 
and she was beginning to feel quite anxious about him. 

But the time had passed very swiftly, for Dr. Anthony, 
for some reason, had recently made his appearance also 
at Saratoga, and seeking Mrs. Langley^s society, had, in 
a quiet way, constituted himself her escort and com- 
panion on all occasions. 

The more she saw of him the more she became in- 
terested in him. He had a widely-extended reputation, 
was highly cultivated, and, although not remarkably 
handsome, was distinguished in his appearance, and 
possessed the power of making himself exceedingly enter- 
taining. 

Thus the time spent in his society seemed very short, 
and her brother was hardly missed. 

But one morning she was aroused from this dolce far 
niente in no gentle manner. 

A letter from Howard, brief, but of terrible import. 


A THUIJ AmST0CIiA7\ 


247 


had come at last, and its contents, for the time being, 
crushed the proud woman to the earth. 

''Dear Helej^: — The administrator appointed by 
the court to settle William’s affairs has just left me. 
He says the bubble in which the colonel invested so 
largely has burst, and every dollar is sunk; the bulk of 
your own fortune was used in the same way, I believe. 
And this is not all; the block on West Forty-third 
Street was burned last night, and the papers of the day 
before gives an account of the failure of the insurance 
company in which it was principally insured. I find, 
upon looking over the papers which you gave me, that 
William owed quite a number of debts, and if anything 
remains, these of course must be paid. This is bad 
news, Helen, and were it not for me, you would truly be 
placed in very trying circumstances. But do not fret — 
you are all that I have now in the world, and while I 
live you shall want for nothing; if I die, you of course 
would inherit my fortune. I will save what I can from 
the wreck, but I may as well tell you first as last that it 
will be precious little. You need not come liome if you 
like to remain where you are, and I will send you a 
check in a day or two for all your needful expenses. 

" Your affectionate brother, H. Montgomery.'’ 

"Bad news! I should think so!” Helen Langley 
cried, savagely, after reading this letter, her face white 
and almost convulsed with mortification and anger, while 
she passionately tore the missive into strips. 

"All that immense property gone to the winds, and 
my own private fortune sacrificed with the rest! I was 
^ fool to let him touch it!” she almost screamed, in ; 
pai oxysm of rage and pain. 

To be poor, in her estimation, was the unpardonabl 
sin; to be obliged to work for one’s living was to be 
reduced to the very depth of degredation and slmme. 

She could wink at follies and dissipation, she could 
smile blandly upon brainless fops and simpering, ignor- 
ant girls, and cultivate the acquaintance of old men and 


248 


A THITB ABISTOOBAT, 


women in their dotage, if they but possessed that mag- 3 
ical passport, wealth. : 

Because of the unfortunate circumstances which had ' 
reduced Cecile to poverty she had sought to ruin her ,■ 
life, and heaped all manner of abuse and insult upon v 
her; and she would have been glad to drive her forth , 
friendless and alone, to beg or starve, rather than that 
such a blot should fall upon the fair escutcheon of a 
Montgomery — that he should marry a heggar. 

Now the tables were turned, and she was shorn of all i 
her glory. 

It was not a pleasant thought, and it ’ came home to . 
her with a force that made her cheeks tingle and her , 
proud eyes droop from shame. 

She stood exactly where Cecile Vavasour had stood a 
little over four years ago; and if any one had come to ' 
her and talked as she had talked to that fair young girl , 
on the day before her marriage, she believed she should 
have hilled that one. She had married Colonel Langley 
because she was ambitious, and he was an eligible 
and because such a marriage would increase and 
strengthen her own fortune and position. She did not : 
know the meaning of the word love when she became 
his wife, and although they had always got along com- 
fortably together, she experienced no poignant grief 
when he died, as we have already seen from her solici- 
tude regarding his will. 

During her short acquaintance with Dr. Anthony, 
however, she had been more powerfully attracted, more 
easily swayed by him than by any one else during her ‘ 
whole life; and she had already begun to consider 
whether, when a suitable season for mourning had 
elapsed, it would not be worth her while to strive to 
win him. At all events, she always exerted herself to 
be particularly entertaining whenever he honored her 
with his presence. 

Dr. Anthony^s position in a worldly point was above 
criticism, while his wonderful skill and success in treat- 
ing diseases of the brain had given him a wide reputa- 
tion; and, added to these pleasing facts was the import- .i 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


249 


ant one that he was possessor of a fortune of at least 
half a million. 

So Mrs. Langley had sighed over her brother's unhap- 
piness in his sympathizing ear, expressing her deepest 
gratitude for the timely aid he had given him abroad — 
confided to him her own troubles, and consulted him 
upon some slight derangement of her own system, and 
strove to interest him in her generally, with an eye to 
the future. 

She was very intelligent, very brilliant, and very 
fascinating when she chose, and it is not to be wondered 
at that the talented physician was attracted by her, and 
that, as he had very few acquaintances at the Springs, 
he spent much of his time in her society. 

But when she had received Howard’s letter, and 
learned that she had been reduced from affluence to 
poverty — that all her boasted wealth had ‘^‘taken to itself 
wing,” and she was entirely dependent upon her brother’s 
generosity for even the bread she ate — she who had reck- 
lessly spent her hundreds on a whim was crushed by the 
blow. 

What a fool I have been!” she said, again and again, 

to allow William to touch one dollar of my fortune. 
I might have had it all to-day but for his stupid specu- 
lations; and now I must go to Howard for every cent I 
need.” 

It was long before she could regard the situation with 
any degree of calmness. She spent most of the day in 
weeping and bemoaning her terrible misfortune, in 
fretting over the disgrace of being poor, and having 
the world know that she, a Montgomery, had lost her 
all. 

I never can endure it,” she cried, passionately, ^‘^to 
have the finger of pity pointed at me — to have people 
say, Poor thing! she lost everything through her hus- 
band’s speculations,’ and then turn coldly away from 
me.” 

Then she emembered her brother’s words, While I 
live you shall want for nothing,” and perhaps after all, 
'the world need not know of her loss; they would of 


250 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


course learn of her husband^s; she could still have How- 
ard's ample fortune to fall back upon; she need not 
curtail in anything, and she could move in the same 
circles, shine in the same society as heretofore; and if, by 
and by, she could win George Anthony and his half 
million, she need borrow no trouble for the future. 

In the midst of this scheming there flashed upon her 
memory that scene in the grounds of Vavasour Place, 
where she had gone to try and break Cecile's engage- 
ment with her brother. 

She had said to her: 

I will not have Howard lose caste by stooping to^ 
wed agirl like you without a dollar to her namp,^'’ and ‘"‘A 
Montgomery never yet lowered himself by marrying into 
a poor family.” 

She flushed an angry red to her very brow as these 
scathing, insulting words rose up to reproach her now. 

Did she not stand in the same position that that 
beautiful girl had then occupied? and did she therefore 
consider herself unfit to wed even the best man in the 
country on account of it? 

If it was a disgrace for a Montgomery to wed a beggar, 
how would it be regarded for a man of wealth and posi- 
tion to marry a beggared Montgomery? 

How would it be with George Anthony? Would it 
'^injure his social standing,” his “business prospects,” 
and would he “ become the talk of his whole circle of 
acquaintance,” if he should marry her now? 

She had never anticipated that her own words would 
rise up and condemn her thus, and she now realized 
something of what Cecile must have suffered, and 
something of her depth of affection when she had 
straightened her slight form, and answered in those 
sweet, yet ringing tones: 

“ No, Mrs. Langley; I am going to marry Mr. Mont- 
gomery because / love him!’’ 

It seemed as if the past were bound to haunt her to- 
day, for, following this, that scene in her own drawing- 
room, on that day when lier brother’s wife had returned 
in such trouble from Europe, came up before her with 
almost startling vividness. 



A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


251 


She had come to her heart-broken, penniless, and 
friendless, and she had scornfully repulsed her, had re- 
fused her aid or shelter, and used all her influence to keep 
even what rightfully belonged to her from her. 

Surely she was reaping something of her reward now 
for it. 

Then she recalled .how proudly the desolate young 
wife and mother had gone forth from her presence; how 
patiently she had toiled for bread for her child since; 
how bravely she had battled with the world and poverty, 
rising above her troubles, and conquering, by her energy 
and persevprance, her adverse fate, and winning a com- 
petence for herself. 

She realized for the first time that it had been no light 
thing for her to do; that she was not the simple, ineffi- 
cient girl she had always represented her to be, but a 
brave, strong, loving woman. 

What could she do now, and where would she be if it 
were not for her brother? — the man who'^e life she had 
been striving to ruin by keeping him from this noble 
wife! 

She knew that she could not battle with sorrow and 
poverty as Cecile had done; that she had neither the 
courage nor the ability; she knew that she would weakly 
sink into oblivion and despair if left alone, and that that 
beautiful girl, who was at least eight years younger than 
herself, was by far her superior; she had matured into 
grand and queenly beauty, while in character she was 
stronger, purer, and nobler in every way. 

Why does she haunt me so to-day ?'"’ she exclaimed, 
springing from her chair, when she could endure her 
thoughts no longer. Have I not enough to bear and 
think of, without having her thrust upon me thus? 

No one shall ever know of my poverty,"^ she went on, 
lifting her head haughtily. “ I will never raise my hand 
to fight against it — a Montgomery work I — never. I will 
still glory in my name and race, and no one shall ever 
suspect the truth. 

“I suppose good people would say that conscience was 
troubling me with these thoughts of the past, in connec- 


252 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


tion with my loss/^ she resumed, scornfully, after pacing 
excitedly up and down her room for some time; but I 
will rise above that weakness at least. I have hated her 
from the moment that she so proudly defied me; I will 
go on hating her to the end; and if I ever meet her again, 
I will crush her if I can. I wish she need never enter 
my thoughts again; I wish I could consign her to oblivion 
forever. I will go out; I shall go wild if I remain shut 
up here thinking. I will cast care to the winds, take 
the goods the gods provide, and use all my arts to secure 
for myself a brilliant future."’^ 

She acted upon her resolution at once; arrayed herself 
with great care, and went out for a walk, hoping to en- 
counter Dr. Anthony, and forget in his presence all un- 
pleasant thoughts and cares. 

She did meet him — but, how? 

It seemed to her, as she entered Congress Park, and 
almost at the gate met George Anthony face to face, and 
passed him by without hardly a sign of recognition, be- 
cause she dare not appear to knoiv his companion — it 
seemed to her, I saj^, as if all the spirits of evil had con- 
spired to drive her wild by a complication of startling 
developments and surprises, and a feeling of helplessness 
took possession of her as she wondered what would come 
next. 


A TEUE ARISTOCMAT. 


253 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN’ OPPOKTUN^E MEETING. 

G eorge AXTHONY had come to the Springs for 
a short holiday during the heated weather before 
returning to his duties at the South. 

He had left New York some time before Mrs. Langley 
and her brother, but did not arrisre at Saratoga until 
after Howard had returned to the city. 

He was quite disappointed upon discovering the ab- 
sence of his friend, but gallantly devoted himself to the 
brilliant young widow, and soon found that he was be- 
coming deeply interested in her. 

She had thus far shown only the agreeable side of her 
character to him, and he had yet to learn the wiles of 
which she was capable. 

I have always thought that I should devote myself 
exclusively to my profession — that I was not a marrying 
man,"” he said to himself on the very morning of the day 
of which we are writing, “^but I declare I have never 
met such a fascinating woman as Howard^s sister before 
— she would make a most charming companion, if she is 
always as I have seen her.^^ 

During the afternoon he had gone for a stroll in Con- 
gress Park, hoping, it must be confessed, to meet the 
lady of whom he was continually thinking. 

He spent an hour or more wandering about in the 
cool, shady walks and avenues, and finally coming to the 
conclusion that she was not there, turned his steps to- 
ward the entrance, thinking he would run up to the 
Grand Union and see if she would not like to go for a 
drive out to the lake; a plan about which they had been 
talking for several days. 


254 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


Had this project been carried out, there is no know- 
ing what might have happened, for although Colonel 
Langley had not yet been dead quite three months. Dr. 
Anthony’s duties would soon call him far away, and he 
might have been led to commit himself in some way that 
would betray to her something of what he was contem- 
plating. 

As he drew near the gate his attention was attracted 
to the figure of a tall, graceful lady who was walking 
just in front of him. 

She was very plainly dressed in black, but the ma- 
terial was soft and rich, and there' was a quiet air of 
elegance about her that betrayed at once the lady. 

What an exquisitely formed woman!” George An- 
thony mentally exclaimed as he watched her. She has 
a step and carriage fit for a queen, and every movement 
is full of grace.” 

Hardly was the thought complete when he sprang 
forward with a cry of dismay. 

AYithout warning of any kind the graceful woman 
whom he was observing so closely had fallen suddenly to 
the ground. 

Madam, are you injured?” George Anthony asked, 
as he reached her side and stooped to raise her to her 
feet, while his face expressed great concern. 

“^Thanks, no,” she retured, in a clear, sweet voice. 

I stepped on a rolling stone, and it turned my ankle 
and threw me. I was very careless.” 

As she spoke she turned upon him the fairest, most 
perfect face that he had ever seen in his life; but it was 
a face withal that stirred his tender sympathies deeply, 
for it told of a great sorrow borne at some time during 
her life. 

He started as he gazed upon it. 

The features seemed familiar, but he could not re- 
member that he had ever seen them before. 

Her complexion was like tinted wax, her azure eyes 
^‘like homes of silent prayer,” lips of brightest scarlet, 
and she had hair that framed the whole like a golden 
halo. 


A TEUE ARISTOCRAT. 


255 


But even as he looked, the delicate color faded en- 
tirely from her cheeks, an expression of pain settled 
about her lips, and as she endeavored to step she 
stumbled. 

You are hurt, I am afraid,” the physician said, 
reaching out his hand and gently supporting her. 

I think 1 must have sprained my foot a little, but if 
I can reach my carriage I shall be all right,” she re- 
turned, but striving to conceal how much she was 
hurt. 

Allow me, then, to assist you to it,” Di;. Anthony 
begged, in his most courteous tone, as he offered his arm 
for her support. 

Thank you,” she said, as she accepted it; ‘‘1 fear I 
shall be obliged to trouble you;” and he thought the 
neatly-gloved hand which fell softly upon it the most 
perfect he had ever seen. 

They proceeded at a slow pace toward the gate, which 
was only a few steps distant, and just as they were pass- 
ing through they were confronted by Helen Langley! 

She stopped short, a low cry escaping her, her face 
growing livid from astonishment, anger and hatred, as 
her eyes fell upon the couple who but a few moments 
before had met. 

She had not observed the accident; so, of course, 
could not know how it happened that her admirer was 
in the company of this beautiful woman. 

She recovered herself, however, almost intantly, and 
bowed haughtily to Dr. Anthony, who smiled as he 
raised his hat to her, although he wondered at the pas- 
sionate look of wrath which she had shot from her mid- 
night eyes at his companion. 

This display of feeling from one whom he had admired 
so much made him a trifle uncomfctrtable, and he 
glanced at the lady leaning upon his arm to see if she 
also had observed it. 

He was no less startled at the change he saw upon her 
face. 

There was a vivid flush upon her cheeks; her lovely 
eyes glittered like jets of blue flame, and her small 


256 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


white teeth compressed her under-lip until it was blood- 
less. Her head was proudly erect, and her whole coun- 
tenance had grown cold and hard. • 

Was she suffering from pain caused by her fall, or 
from agitation at this meeting with Mrs. Langley.^ he 
wondered. 

Did they know each other? 

If so, there had been no token of recognition beyond 
this strange emotion. 

Perhaps they had been rivals during some time in the 
past, and Mi’s. Langley was angry because of his atten- 
tion to her. 

He began to feel his curiosity aroused. 

Just outside the gate, his companion beckoned J;o a 
coachman, who sat upon his carriage-box not far dis- 
tant, and in obedience to her signal he immediately ap- 
proached. 

I am greatly indebted to you, sir, for your kind- 
ness,^'’ she said, turning to Dr. Anthony as the carriage 
stopped beside them. 

“ Do not mention it, madam, he answered, heartily, 
and feeling sure that he had seen those strangely beauti- 
ful eyes before; but where, he could not remember. 
am thankful that I was near at hand to lend you aid. 
I trust you are not seriously injured.'’'’ 

Oh, no,'’'’ she replied, smiling — such a rare, sweet 
smile, that it remained like a sunbeam in his memory 
for many a day; ^Mt is nothing but what a little rest and 
attention will set all right, I think. ^'’ 

He assisted her to enter the carriage; and then lean- 
ing toward her, he said, earnestly, for he saw she had 
grown pale again, sprain sometimes proves more 
troublesome than we imagine, if neglected.'’^ 

I will not neglect it,^'’ she replied, the color coming 
back for an instant to her cheeks at his manifest inter- 
est in her. 

Then, bowing graciously, and giving him a look from 
her grave sweet eyes that thrilled him strangely, she 
gave her order to the driver to return to the hotel, and 
was whirled away. 


A ABISTOCHAT. 


257 


“ Beautiful in form and feature, 

Lovelj" as the da*'; 

Can there be so fair a creature 
Formed of common clay?” 

George Anthony murmured as be watched that vision 
of loveliness out of sight, and then turned to retrace his 
steps in search of Helen Langley. 

But, somehow, she did not seem half so attractive to 
him as heretofore; the spell which she had cast about 
him was suddenly dissolved. 

He found her sitting upon a rustic seat near a 
fountain, and not very far from where the accident had 
occurred. 

She was still pale, and there was a forbidding gleam 
in her dark eyes. 

Her face, so cold, so hard, was like February com- 
pared with that other, which was like the first faint 
blush of a summers day. 

The contrast was not a pleasant one to him, nor favor- 
able to her, and as he sat down beside her he half re- 
gretted that he had returned to seek her. 

"Tve just met with an adventure,'' he said, removing 
his hat, and beginning to fan himself with it, for the 
afternoon was very oppressive. 

''An adventuress," Helen Langley thought, wrath- 
fully, in her heart. 

"I judged so when I met you just now. Who was 
that woman with you?" she returned, and bending a 
suspicious glance upon him., 

"I do not know," he replied, with his eyes resting 
absently upon the fleecy clouds that were floating in 
huge masses above them. 

"You do not know?" Helen repeated, regarding him 
curiously, while a sigh of relief escaped her at the as- 
surance. 

" No/’ I was about to ask you the same question. 

"Me!" she ejaculated, in well-feigned surprise. 
" Prav, why should you ask me that?" 

" I'don't know why, only I imagined from the look 
that you gave her as we passed you, that she must be 
some one whom you had once known," the doctor re- 


258 


A TRUE ABISTOCEAT. 


plied, now turning his eyes upon her with a scrutinizing 
glance. 

‘‘NOj^^she said, dropping her eyes, and coloring in 
evident confusion. — I was only surprised to meet 

you with her — I thought you knew no one here.^'’ 

An hour ago George Anthony would have been 
strangely moved by these words — this almost confession 
of jealousy on account of his attention to another. 

They implied that he^ was more to her than he 
thought — that his evident familiarity with another 
beautiful woman had occasioned her annoyance and 
even distress. ^ 

But with that dazzlingly fair countenance, those lus- 
trous eyes and scarlet lips still haunting his memory; 
with those clear, yet 's.veetly-modulated tones still ring- 
ing in his ears, and that rare smile still thrilling his 
heart, he scarcely heard them, or, if he did, he did not 
heed them. 

She was very beautiful, he murmured, absently. 

Helen Langley flashed a dangerous look at him, but 
vouchsafed no reply to his remark. 

Ho you not think so?’^ he asked, noticing her silence 
and looking up. 

How can I tell? I scarcely saw her,” she answered, 
with something of impatience, and shrugging her grace- 
ful shoulders. 

He might have felt flattered had he noticed her last 
words — she had barely looked at his companion; her at- 
tention had all been given to him. 

But her spell was broken, her power over him was 
gone, at least for that day. 

"" Her face was like that of a Madonna — it had an 
almost holy beauty — and her form like that of a 
Venus.'’^ 

‘‘Eeally, Dr. Anthony, I never would have believed 
that you could be guilty of so much sentiment,'^ Mrs. 
Langley remarked, sarcastically. “Lm sure I paid no 
attention to either the face or form of this charmer, but 
I am positive that she limped as she walked. 


A TRUE AUISTOGEAT. 


259 


Dr. Anthony looked up into that brilliant, flushes’’ 
face beside him, and laughed aloud. 

Her spirited reply amused him although he did not i l 
that moment half comprehend its venom. 

course she limped, and I have not told you my 
adventure, after all/^ he said, arousing himself from his 
abstraction, and thinking, perhaps, she had cause to be 
annoyed with him. 

And then he related to her how he had chanced to 
meet the lovely stranger, while she listened, greatly 
relieved that their interview had been no longer, and 
hoped that adverse fate would never throw them into 
each other^s society again. 

Her spirits rose after this, and she exerted herself to 
be as entertaining as possible; but she could plainly see, 
and she grew inwardly furious with the knowledge, that 
his mind was still filled with visions of that ‘^beautiful 
woman. 


m 


A mUE ARlSTOCItAT. 


CHAPTEE XXXIL 

MRS. L A K G L E Y S FEARS. 

T hat beautiful woman^’ was no other than Ceoile. 

Helen Langley had recognized her instantly, and 
all the passion and hatred of her fiery Southern nature 
was aroused when she beheld her leaning upon^ the arm 
of the man whom she had determined to win for her 
second husband. 

How came she here? She pursues me like an 
avenging spirit/' she cried, angrily, as, after passing Dr. 
Anthony and his companion, she hastened on out of 
their sight, and dropped upon the first seat that she 
came to. 

Her face was almost convulsed with inward rage, her 
heart full of malice and venom, those 

“Fierce demons that in darkness dwell;” 

and she looked entirely unlike that brilliant, smiling 
woman whom the distinguished physician was learning 
to admire so greatly. 

It is no wonder that my thoughts were full of her 
this morning," she pursued with lowering brow. 

^ Coming events were but casting their shadows be- 
fore.' What evil genius brings her here 1 should like to 
know? How does it happen that she meets and thwarts 
me at every turn?" 

At this moment, as if to enrage her still more, there 
issued from the boughs just over her head those peculiar 
yet familiar sounds: 

"‘Katy did; she did, she did." 

This little circumstance, although so trivial Jn itself, 
yet, combined with everything else, was more than her 
fiery nature could bear. 


A TRtTE AUISTOGBAT. 


^61 


With crimson face and flashing eyes she hounded from 
her seat, and struck at the bough with all the passion of 
a child with her parasol. 

The visible but tormenting little sprites thus, for the 
moment silenced, she sat down again and resumed her 
mu sings. 

How on earth did she ever become acquainted with 
him 9 and shall I ever set my heart upon anything that 
she will not outwit mo in attaining? I am afraid every- 
thing will be upset now,^^ she pursued, nervously. 

He will be sure to tell Howard that he has seen her; 
my plotting will all come to naught, and I shall be 
ruined. 

It was always so — she always won everybody by her 
wiles, she thought, angrily, forgetting that those very 
wiles were a lovely spirit, true kindness, and gentle 
breeding added to great natural beauty and grace. 

And with these bitter thoughts surging in her heart 
like molten lava, George Anthony found her, and told 
her of his adventure with Cecile. 

She was intensely relieved upon discovering that 
he did not even know her name; and she began to take 
courage immediately, and to rack her brain for some 
way to escape the impending danger, and to prevent 
the physician from meeting her fascinating sister-in-law 
again. 

If he does not even know who she is, there is no 
great harm done as yet/" she thought, after he had left 
her and she was alone in her room once more. I will 
look out that they do not become any better acquainted. 
I must arrange some way to get away from here, and 
make him go, too, as soon as possible. Meantime I 
must monopolize all his attention to keep him out of 
danger."" 

A most unhappy woman was Mrs. Colonel Langley 
for the next few days. 

She was continually watching for the reappearance of 
Cecile, starting nervously and straining her gaze at every 
strange woman in black whom she met. 

She was consumed with a torturing curiosity to know 


A AB/STOOJ^AT. 




wliat circumstance, or combination of circumstances, 
had served to bring her brother's wife to Saratoga. 

She can never have earned enough to allow her to 
flourish in a fashionable place like Saratoga," she rea- 
soned; ^‘^and yet she was richly though plainly dressed. 
It cannot be possible that she has, after all, married 
Dr. Mortimer and come hither on her wedding tour. 
No, for she would not still be wearing black if that was 
the case; and yet she might, too, for Daisy. I cannot 
understand it." 

She did not like to think — particularly now since learn- 
ing of her own poverty — that Cecile had risen to a posi- 
tion like this — to be able to afford the luxuries of high- 
toned Saratoga, achieving an independence superior to 
her own at this time, all by her own efforts. 

Cecile's words — those last ringing, deflant words that 
she had uttered that morning after her return from Eu- 
rope — came back to her now with a vividness and force 
which v/ere galling in the extreme. 

You may imagine, perhaps," she had said, towering 
above her in her proud beauty, that you can crush me; 
but — you cannot do it, and you will live to realize that 
fact in more senses than one — you will And yet that a 
Vavasour is a match for a Montgomery!” 

Was that threat about to be fulfilled.^ 

Had she not already discovered that Cecile was more 
than a match for her in their contention for Daisy ? 

The contest between them had been a severe one from 
the first; but with all the odds against her, the high- 
spirited, resolute girl liad won every battle. 

She had married her brother defying every threat. 
She had conquered poverty and risen to affluence when 
she had put forth every effort to crush her. Her mother- 
instinct had led her to follow the trail of her child, and 
she had confronted her with a courage and determination 
which had completely and ignominiously routed her. 
Would she win in this last, this decisive conflict? Would 
she regain her husband, wealth, position, happiness, in 
spite of her? 

She began to fear so, and to ‘tremble for the result of 
her many schemes. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


263 


She well knew that if Howard should chance to meet 
her, or if Cecile should dream of his return and let him 
know of her existence, her own chances for the future 
would be very small. 

He never would forgive her for what she had done — 
he would doubtless cast her off from his love, deny her 
his protection, perhaps even refuse to grant her means 
sufficient for a scanty support, and she would sink out 
of sight into oblivion. 

She, a boasted Montgomery! 

Such a fate would be worse than death to the proud- 
spirited, passionate Southerner. 

She had cursed the ill-luck which had sent Cecile to 
Cahfornia in pursuit of her child; but since Howard^s 
return she had begun to think perhaps it had been bet- 
ter so, because it had taken her out of his way, and be- 
yond all knowledge of all that had transpired. 

She could not have failed to learn that he had come 
home if she remained in New York, for the reporters 
had eagerly seized upon his romantic experiences, and 
for awhile the newspapers Avere full of them. 

If she had only stayed in California all would have been 
well, she thought — remember, she did not know of How- 
ard^’s journey thither; but this sudden reappearance of 
hers in Saratoga threatened destruction to all her artful 
schemes. 


While she continues to plot, trying to gather all her 
forces for a coup de grace,^^ let us see hoAv it chanced 
that Cecile came to Saratoga at this season so inoppor- 
tune for Mrs. Langley^s plans, and also at the very time 
when her husband was making his desperate pilgrimage 
to California to see for himself how martters stood there. 

Little Daisy was indeed believed to be dying by the 
whole household at Mrs. Lawson^s on the night Avhen 
Mrs. Langley went to inquire for her. 

She had taken a second cold — not while being moved 
from Mrs. Scherman's, but in some unaccountable way 
afterward, and it had resulted in a severe attack of 
croup. 


264 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


Dr. Mortimer was well-nigh discouraged upon the ap- 
pearance of this dread disease, especially while the little 
one was so weakened from her previous illness; but he 
could not relinquish all of hope. 

He felt that he could not have her die — that he must 
save this beautiful child — this one hope and comfort of 
the woman he had grown to love with a depth and fervor 
which at times almost startled him. 

For hours he hung over her, watching every symptom, 
every breath, and doing all that mortal could do; 
while Cecile in mute anguish watched his every move- 
ment, feeling numb and helpless in the presence of this 
last crushing trial. 

There is only one thing more that I can do — only 
one thing which gives the least hope of saving her,^^ he 
said, looking up at the despairing mother with a white 
but determined face, as each breath grew more distress- 
ing than the last, after he had exhausted his medical 
skill. 

And what is that?"^ whispered Cecile, with a stony 
face. 

Ti'acheotomy, or making an incision and inserting a 
canula in the windpipe, he answered, briefly, but watch- 
ing to see how she would receive the information. 

She shuddered, and covered her eyes with her hands. 

You could not bear it,"’"’ he said, sorrowfully. 

There is no other hope?^'’ she pfeaded, pitifully. 

^^ISTone — not the faintest.'’^ 

There was an awful silence in that room for a few 
moments. 

Then the wretched mother looked up at him with a 
face like that of a spirit, but apparently calm. 

Then it must be done,^'’ she said, clearly and dis- 
tinctly. 

He looked relieved^ 

Wilbyou--can you trust me to do it, or would you 
prefer that I should consult with some one else?"’"’ 

If you say that you can do it, I can trust you,^^ she 
returned quietly. 

A wave of tenderness, like moonlight on the sea, 


A mV!/ ABISTOCliAT. 


265 


swept over his face, making it beautiful as a woman’s, 
at her words, and he longed to clasp her to his heart. 

But it was no time for the indulgence of sentiment, 
for he knew that every moment was precious — wdiatever 
was done must be quickly done now. 

He left the room for a few moments, and when he re- 
turned he carried a small case of instruments in his hand. 

Perhaps it would be best for you to go away and 
send Mrs. Lawson to me,” he said, in a low voice, to 
Cecile, as he noticed how deathly pale she had grown. 

A slight tremor shook her frame, but she gave no 
other sign of her horror of the contemplated operation. 

she said, steadily; shall not leave here, 
and I would rather no one else came. I will do every- 
thing just as you tell me.” 

I am afraid you cannot bear it,” Dr. Mortimer re- 
turned, somewhat anxiously. 

He knew that the sight of her suffering, if she should 
give way, would disturb him, ai>d he would need all his 
nerve for what was before him. 

I can bear anything that will save her. I shall give 
you all the assistance that you will need. Do not fear 
to call on me,” she said so firmly that he felt assured 
she would not fail him. 

With a silent prayer for help. Dr. Mortimer bent all 
his energies to the task he had undertaken. 

With a stern, set face, but with a steady, unerring 
hand, he performed that delicate and dangerous opera- 
tion, through which lay his only hope of saving his little 
patient — calling upon Cecile in low, quiet tones whenever 
he needed help; while she, nerved to endurance by the 
absorbing love within her, never faltered through the 
whole. 

It was over at last, and the child lay breathing easily 
once more. They no longer had to listen to those hoarse, 
distressing sounds which had nearly driven the whole 
household wild, and had so startled and alarmed Mrs. 
Langley as she stood at the door. But they could not, 
for some time, yet, know what the result would be. 
They could only pray, and hope, and wait. 



266 


A TRUE AniSTOCRAT. 


All day, and tlirougli another night, the faithful 
physician watched, and worked, and prayed; and when 
the second morning broke, and he felt that the symp- 
toms were more favorable and promising, he sank 
wearily into a chair beside the anxious mother, who 
looked like a broken flower herself, and murmured a 
reverent: 

Thank God! I trust — I believe — He will spare her, 
after all/^ 

A long-drawn, sobbing sigh heaved Cecile^s chest. 
She was too exhausted either to weep or to speak, but 
she lifted her grateful eyes for one instant to his face, 
then bent her proud, beautiful head and touched her 
lips to that skillful right hand which had done so much 
to save her darling. It was a tribute that well-nigh un- 
nerved the strong man. 

It was all that he could do to refrain from gathering 
her into his arms, lay her head upon his breast, soothe 
her with loving, tender words, and bid her weep out her 
full heart there. 

But he would take no ungenerous advantage of her 
gratitude, and he schooled himself to patience, hoping, 
by and by, to win the reward which he so coveted. 

While Helen Langley was speeding over the glistening 
rails of the Union Paciflc, and drawing near her home, 
where Death had indeed flxed his relentless dart, Daisy 
began slowly but surely to mend. 

She seemed like some tiny frost-bitten flower, which 
a single rough breath would waft away, as she lay help- 
lessly upon the soft pillow, upon which they were obliged 
to tend her. 

But she appeared to absorb vitality from the faithful, 
loving watcher who never left her. 

Sleeping or waking, Cecile would resign her to no 
one else. When she rested she would lie down beside 
her and catch what sleep she could;'* and when she was 
awake she hung over her with such yearning tenderness 
that it seemed as if she compelled her to live by the 
force of her love and will. 

And Daisy clung to her constantly. As soon as she 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


267 


recovered consciousness and began to realize what was 
passing around her, she became extremely nervous, start- 
ing wildly at the sound of every opening or shutting 
door, and crying out piteously, as if she feared being 
spirited away again. 

‘"Mamma, mamma, Daisy afraid!^" and her little 
fingers would weave themselves about her mothers hand, 
cleaving to her with all the strength that she possessed. 

But gradually, as she came to realize that the loved 
one never left her, she grew to feel more confidence and 
became less timid; she improved from day to day, and 
after a few weeks she was able to be dressed, and even to 
totter weakly about about the room. 

One day, when she seemed very much better than 
usual. Dr. Mortimer insisted that both mother and child 
should go out for a drive. 

""It is a bright, sunny day, and you both look as if 
you belonged rather to the spiritual than to the physical 
world, he said, with an anxious glance into Cecile’s 
thin, pale face. 

As she met his eyes, which betrayed more of his 
heart than he was aware of, she shrank from him for 
the first time during their acquaintance. 

Of late she had begun to be conscious of the tender- 
ness which he could not wholly repress; she had read in 
his glances something of the love which he found it so 
hard to conceal, and to-day there was that in his manner 
which told her that a crisis was at hand, and the knowl- 
edge filled her with dismay. 

""I think a drive would do us good, she returned, 
with averted eyes, while she busied herself with fasten- 
ing Daisy^s shoe, ""but. Dr. Mortimer, we have already 
imposed upon your time far more than we have any 
right to do; if you will order an easy carriage with a 
driver I think we could do very well by ourselves.” 

His face clouded slightly. 

""Surely you will not deny me the pleasure of giving 
Daisy her first airing?” he pleaded, gently. 

There could be no refusal to such a petition, and 
Cecile quietly allowed him to have his way. 


268 


A TItUB ABISTOCBAT. 


It- was truly a most perfect day. 

A delicious breeze swept inland from the sea, and as 
they drove out to one of the many beautiful parks which 
adorn the city the faces of both mother and child gave 
promise that the rose-bloom might yet be coaxed b^ack 
to its nest upon their cheeks. 

Poor Cecile was sadly worn from her long and weary- 
ing vigil, but her heart was filled with hope once more; 
and her eyes, as they looked down upon the contented 
face of her little one, shone with a happier expression 
than Dr. Mortimer had ever seen in them before. 

The balmy atmosphere gradually overcame Daisy, and 
ere their drive was half over her bright head had sunk 
back upon her mother’s breast, and she was in a pro- 
found slumber. 

See how she has seemed to gather health already,” 
Cecile said, with a fond smile, as she softly touched the 
delicate pink which was tinging the little cheek. 

His eyes glowed as he looked upon them both. 

They made a picture which thrilled him through and 
through — a picture which he longed to make his own 
forever. 

He had grown to love the fragile, beautiful child, 
whom twice he had, as it were, brought back from 
deatli’s door, ^very tenderly ; she had twined herself 
about his heart like a little vine about a strong oak. 
But he actually worshiped the woman who was her 
mother. 

Her nature was strong without a fiber of coarseness in 
it; she was possessed of no common degree of intelli- 
gence, and a beauty which attracted every one; while 
her pure and lofty character, her self-sacrificing spirit 
and gentleness, made her seem almost divine to this 
equally noble-hearted man. 

Yes,” he said, in reply to her observation, ‘^she is 
looking bettei', and if I could see more of promise in 
your owli white face I should be quite content.” 

The look which accompanied this remark did far 
more than either his words or the air toward instantly 
producing the result which he desired, and a vivid scar- 


A TBUB AHISTOCBAT. 


269 


let rushed over her whole countenance and lost itself 
among the gold above her brow. . . 

But the beautiful color did not stay; the tide swept 
back upon her heart, leaving her whiter than before; 
while, to escape those loving eyes, she bent down to 
cover Daisy more carefully. 

A short distance of awkward silence, and Dr. Morti- 
mer could endure the suspense no longer. 

He bent forward and laid his hand lightly upon hers, 
his face nearly as colorless as her own, an intense light 
in his eyes, an agitated quiver about his lips, while he 
said : 

Mrs. Montgomery — Oecile — I cannot command my- 
self another hour in your presence. I love you, and I 
must know my fate — be it hope, or despair.'’^ 


270 


A TRUE ARISTOCEAT, 


CHAPTEK XXXIII. 

DID YOU LOVE HIM LIKE THAT?^^ 

ECILE’S bright head was bent lower still at this 



vehement declaration; a grieved expression dis- 


turbed the sweet mouth; the tears welled up to her eyes, 
and breaking there scattered themselves like tiny dia- 
monds upon their golden-fringed lids. 

The man who loved her was qujck to notice all these 
signs — quick to interpret them; but he went on in deep, 
earnest tones: 

I think these feelings began to exist during those 
sad da'^s when you depended upon me, and trusted me 
so entirely during that never-to-be-forgotten voyage 
across the Atlaj' tic. Looking back now, I can see that 
something deeper than mere sympathy stirred my heart 
for you even then; but I did not become fuliy conscious 
of it until since yon appealed to me in this last trouble; 
and during these weeks that we have spent in each 
other^’s society I have grown to feel that your love is the 
only thing which will henceforth make my life complete. 
Co(dle. words are faint to express all my devotion; if I 
could but • give utterance to half of what there is in my 
heart, I should draw you into it, as the magnet draws 
the needle to itself. Dear, I am thirty-seven years old 
— much older than you, who cannot have seen more than 
twenty-one or two summers and winters; but I have 
never loved any one before. Once or twice I have met 
some one who for a little while attracted me, but some- 
thing held me back from giving them my love. I know 
why it was now — I was waiting for you, who alone could 
fill my life with contentment. With you as my wife, I 
shall have gained all of earth most desirable — loill you 
be my wife, Cecile? I will care for you so tenderly that 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


271 - 


henceforth, while I live, you shall have nothing to re- 
gret which it is in my power to help. Yon have sutfered 
in the past — your pathway has been rough; let me 
smooth it for you from this time — come and rest with 
me; let me win both you and this little treasure, whom 
also I love with no common affection. My beloved, 
what may I hope for?^^ 

She looked up to him piteously as he concluded, her 
soulful eyes brimming with tears; but for a moment she 
could not command herself sufficiently to reply. 

Then she said, tremulously: 

Every good thing which my grateful heart can wish, 
and which your own goodness deserves, except — that 
which you ask.'’^ 

His face blanched. 

^“^Do not tell me that!^^ he cried, and the sharp de- 
spair in his tone sent an icy pain shivering through her 
veins. believe I could bear any other sorrow that 
heaven might send upon me, no matter how bitter, bet- 
ter than the knowledge that I have loved you in vain. 
Cecile, it cannot be that God has permitted me to build 
upon a false foundation,’^ and his hand closed upon hers 
as it rested upon Daisy’s shoulder, with an appealing 
clasp. 

She did not withdraw it — she was nearly stunned by 
the revelation of his passionate, almost idolatrous love. 
She felt powerless before it — crushed by this wealch of 
devotion which he had sacrificed to her unrequiting heart. 

Again she lifted her eyes to his, and they were full of 
mute distress, and he saw there was no hope in them for 
him. 

Cecile,” he said sharply, and the sound pierced her 
like a knife, ""I would rather that 5mu should slay me 
with your hand than that your lips should tell me that I 
have loved you hopelessly.” 

"'And I must — I must,” she answered, in a shaking 
voice. " I cannot wrong you — I cannot wrong myself. 
Oh, Dr. Mortimer, why did you allow yourself to love 
me? — why did you let me spoil your life?” 

"Why did I love you?” he repeated, hollowly, "be- 


A mUE AnmTOCRAT. 


m 

cause I could not help it — because yours is the only spirit 
kindred to my own in all this wide world — you will not 
tell me that I cannot win you!^^ 

‘‘Oh, my best friend, almost my only friend, you 
break my heart. I never thought to do you such injury 
by coming here, but it can never he as you wish,^'’ she 
replied, brokenly. 

For a moment he swayed in his seat, and the reins 
nearly dropped from his hand. 

But he made an effort to recover himself, and straight- 
ened in his seat, although a look of age seemed to have 
fallen over his face during the last few moments. 

“Do you — you once told me that you believed that 
he — your husband — was dead,^'’ he said in a constrained 
voice, after a few moments of silence. “Is it because 

you are not quite certain that — that 

“Yes, I believe that he is dead,^'’ Cecile said sadly, as 
he faltered and stopped, “or he would surely have come 
back to me before this. But I do not know it — oh, I do 

not know it! and even 

She, too, hesitated, and glanced at him appealingly. 

“ Even what, my child he said so gently, but in such 
a hopeless tone that she covered her face and sobbed 
with pain. 

“ Oh, forgive me,^^ she replied, after a moment, and 
struggling with her tears. “1 would not pain you. I 
feel almost like a criminal, and you have been so good 
to me. All that I have left of comfort and happiness 
I owe to you; but — even if I knew, beyond a doubt, 
that Howard, my husband, was dead — if I knew at this 
moment just where his body was laid — I could tell you 
nothing different; my love for him w^as the one all-absorb- 
ing passion of my life, and even though he may be resting 
in some unknown spot in a foreign country, he is still 
mine and I am his; no other love could ever come into 
my heart; wherever I am, whatever I do, my soul will 
ever reach out after him with a yearning that can never 
be satisfied in this world; if I live to be old it will live 
with me — it will go down to the grave with me, and I 
shall only be content when God lifts the vail and allows 
us to be reunited for eternity.'’'’ 



A TRUE AmSTOCllAT. 2ld 

Child, did you love him like that?” he asked, in a 
suMued tone, while he regarded her almost nervously. 
“ You know then,” he added, a moment after, with a 
far-away, yet patient look in his eyes, "'what my love 
for you is like, and I fear that your life will be as hope- 
less as mine, also, will henceforth be.” 

He knew that his dream was over — hers, also, he be- . 
lieved, although she had borne her sorrow with such 
fortitude that he had not realized it fully before, and 
she seemed like some holy martyr to him, and he 
mentally resolved that no word of his should ever pain 
her further by any reference to his hopeless love for 
her. 

His hope was dead — it had been slain, as it were, at 
the moment when it had burned brightest and strong- 
est; and all that he could now do was to lay it tenderly 
a\vay in memory's vault, where he would treasure it as 
a sacred relic — glad, even in his pain, to know what it 
w^as to have loved so pure and lovely a woman — better 
too, for the sweet, short experience, even though it 
would darken all his future. 

Gecile was deeply moved by his words, and her tears 
dropped thick and fast. 

" Do not grieve because your truthfulness has shown 
me my folly,” Dr. Mortimer said, while with his own 
handkerchief he wiped away the bright drops which had 
fallen, and lay glittering on sleeping Daisy's hair. "I 
might have known from my own nature that you, hav- 
ing loved onoe, could never love again. I was thought- 
less, selfish ” 

"No, 7^c>,'' she interrupted, almost passionate!}^, "I 
cannot let you say such hard things of yourself. Next 
to my husband and child you hold the strongest place 
in my heart; you have been, you are like a dear 
elder brother to me — a friend, whom I ]c7iow that I 
can trust as I trust myself. What should I have done 
without you during that terrible voyage? How could 
I have lived and borne the burdens of the last few weeks 
without your strong support — your kind care and sym- 


274 


A TRUE ARISTOGnAT. 


If I have helped iu any way to lighten your sorrows 
it is enough; my love will not have been wholly fruit- 
less,” he returned, in a patient tone. 

''Wholly fruitless! Do you so undervalue yourself?” 
she cried, w^armly; "have you not restored to me the 
most priceless thing I had — the life of my child? Oh, 
my friend, if prayers can bring blessings upon any one, 
mine will heap them upon you.” 

The drive was rather a silent one after this, although 
Dr. Mortimer exerted himself to point out all the ob- 
jects of interest Avhich they passed, and he took pains to 
take her through all the finest avenues of the Park, and 
then home by another way, that she might see some of 
the elegant buildings in a part of the city where she had 
never been before. 

Notwithstanding the pain and disappointment and ex- 
citement of those few hours, Cecile . gathered strength 
and vitality, and both she and Daisy were much better 
the next morning in consequence of the time they had 
spent in the open air and life-giving sunshine. 

Every day after this they drove out, the doctor insist- 
ing that air was better than medicine; but he never re- 
ferred again to the subject of that first drive. 

They visited Golden Gate Park — that beautiful and 
attractive resort for all beauty-loving people, with its 
wide, cool avenues, its picturesque grottoes, and fine 
conservatory. Then there were Jackson, Buena Vista, 
Franklin and Holly Parks — all lovely spots, and Dr. 
Mortimer was determined that Cecile should see all that 
was possible of the great city before her return, which, 
he began to fear, since the unfortunate disclosure of his 
passion for her, was not far distant. 

But he had the satisfaction of seeing both mother and 
child come back from each excursion looking brighter 
than before. 


A TRUE ABISTOCMAT. 


275 


CHAPTEE XXXIY. 

A PINAL PAEEWELL. 

C ECILE had told Dr. Mortimer that she believed 
God would give him his reward ere long/-’ but 
she little dreamed how soon her prophecy, and his own 
also, would be fulfilled, for he had told her pehaps he 
might yet realize that God^s way was best. 

And yet he had no idea how he was to be led to see 
it, or how the hand which he trusted to lead him would 
guide him into light, and peace, and resignation. 

He never again alluded in the slightest manner to 
what had passed between them during the remainder of 
her stay in San Francisco. 

But she did not need to be told he suffered, nor that, 
for him, all the brightest hopes of his life had departed. 

She saw it in the patient hopelessness of his eyes, and 
in those great circles underneath — in the pained curves 
of his lips, and the worn look of his whole face. 

His manner toward her, however, was just the same 
— kind, courteous, considerate; but she was constantly 
oppressed by a feeling of guilt, a sense of reproach, as 
if she had done him some great wrong which she could 
never repair, and she began to be anxious to go away, 
thinking, perhaps, he might experience less of bitterness 
if he was not continually reminded of his disappoint- 
ment by her presence. 

She told him one day that, if he thought it would do 
for Daisy to travel, she felt as if she must return to New 
York; she was anxious to get home; and, besides, her 
business, so long neglected, demanded her immediate 
attention. 

A deeper shade of sadness fell over his face at this. 


276 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


and he did not make her any reply for a moment or two. 

At length he said: 

^‘1 think some change would be well for both you and 
Daisy; indeed, I think the state of your health de- 
mands it. You have been losing flesh constantly, and 
you will break down entirely unless you begin to mend 
soon. But it will not do for you to go back to that 
close city at present, and at this season of all times, and 
there must be no thought of ^business ^ for some time 
to come 

But — Cecile began, with an anxious look. 

^^'^But me no buts,"’"’'’ he quoted, trying to speak 
lightly, though his heart was sick and heavy at the 
thought of losing her; it was pain to meet her day by 
day and know that she could never be anything more to 
him; but it would be more bitter still to be deprived of 
her gentle presence entirely. 

It is absolutely imperative that you should rest for 
some time yet,"*^ he continued. You are worn almost to 
a shadow, and my greatest wonder is that you have not 
given out before this. You must go to some watering- 
place. If you could go to Saratoga Springs for awhile 
and drink the water, it would be of the greatest benefit 
to both Daisy and you.'’^ 

Cecile looked grave at this advice. 

The expenses of her journey hitherto had been con- 
siderable, and she expected that Mrs. Lawson^’s bill 
would be no light one, while a protracted visit to Sara- 
toga would surely not help to increase her store. 

But health, of course, was of the utmost importance, 
and she had realized of late that her strength was fail- 
ing, and that the strain of watching and anxiety, loss 
of sleep and appetite, had been more than her system 
could well bear. 

‘^IIow long would it be necessary for us to remain 
there she asked, thoughtfully. 

^^Five or six months at the least, Dr. Mortimer an- 
swered. ‘^And,^'’ he added, speaking authoritatively, 

"" you must send for Martha to come and relieve you of 
the care of Daisy; it is necessary that you have entire i 


A TRUE AniSTOGRAT. 277 

rest, and attend to yourself now, or I will not answer 
for the consequences/^ 

I think I shall do very well, if I can only keep her 
well,*'’ Cecile said, a little spot of color coming to either 
cheek, but with her eyes upon Daisy. 

She had tried to conceal from him what her feelings 
had been. 

You will not do very well,^^ he returned, ignoring 
her reference to her child. Your nerves have had a 
very severe trial — your constitution, generally, such a 
strain, that you cannot bear anything more. Every 
morning you are so languid and weary that it is an effort 
for you to move. Every afternoon you are feverish, and 
so nervous that you are ready to cry out at every sound, 
although you try bravely to exercise self-control.'’^ 

Cecile looked up at him with tears in her eyes. 

How well he knew and had described her feelings! 
How great must be the care and watchfulness that 
could detect what she had tried so hard to hide from 
him! 

did not believe any one knew how I felt,’^ she 
murmured, wearily; for even then she wished she might 
go away and lie down somewhere and not be disturbed 
for a month. 

Child,^’ he said, with a gentle reproachful ness, did 
you imagine that you could conceal it from mef^ 

But one does not like to yield to weakness,’'’ she re- 
plied. 

JSTo; your will’s much too strong for your organiza- 
tion; but you will heed me now, will you not? he asked, 
anxiously. 

"" Yes," I shall obey you and go to Saratoga. I know 
you would not tell me it was necessary if it was not, and 
I myself realize the truth of what you have said,” Cecile 
returned, gravely. 

And Martha? you will send for her?” 

She gave him a troubled glance. 

"‘Do you think it will not do for me to get along 
without her?” she asked. 

“ I know it will not,” he said, decidedly; adding, with 
a troubled look; 


278 


A TRUE ABISTOCRAT. 


^^See how your hands tremble even now/^ and he 
pointed to them as she drew the cords to her morning 
robe, and tried to tie them in a knot with fingers 
that shook like leaves in the wind. You must have 
nothing to do, not a care; you need to be taken care of 
yourself.^'’ 

She allowed the cords to drop, and folded her thin 
hands on her lap with a weary sigh. 

“1 will send for Martha at once. She can meet me 
at Saratoga, and I think we will leave here the day after 
to-morrow, she said, quietly ; but her face was very sad, 
for a fear of loneliness began to creep over her as she 
realized how much she had depended upon this strongs 
tender man during her sojourn there. 

Again that, pained look shot into Dr. Mortimer’s eyes 
as she announced her decision; but he could not speak 
of his own feelings, and began to plan for her comfort, 
during her long journey, in the most thoughtful man- 
ner. 

The day of her departure arrived. 

When she went down to her breakfast she took her 
purse with her, and asked Mrs. Lawson for her bill, at 
the same time mentioning in the most grateful manner 
her appreciation of the great kindness she had shown 
her during Daisy’s long illness, and indeed throughout 
her stay there. 

But the good woman, wiping the tears of regret from 
her eyes, told her she had no bill to give her — there was 
nothing to pay. 

Cecile was confounded. 

“But, madam, of course I cannot accept an obliga- 
tion like this from you! It would not be right,” she 
began. 

“ Oh, no, not from me, although I must confess I 
never took more pleasure in entertaining any one. But 
the bill has all been attended to, Mrs. Montgomery. Dr. 
Mortimer said that you were to be his guest while you 
were here, and he has made it all right,” Mrs. Lawson 
explained, rather awkwardly. 

Cecile could say nothing, but she returned to her room 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


m 


with a scarlet spot on both cheeks, and when Dr. Morti- 
mer came in she somewhat proudly insisted upon having 
her bill. 

He took both her hands in his, and said in tones of 
mild reproof: 

Cecil e, you told me a little while ago that you had 
learned to regard me as a dear brother; a brother would 
not do less than I have done for you, and you would ac- 
cept it unquestioningly from him. I am a strong man, 
Avith more than enough of thisworld^s possessions; while 
you — Cecile, do you suppose that I do not know how 
this matter of expense is troubling you? Do not, I pray, 
refuse me the comfort of feeling that you have been my 
guest; let me do this little deed for you, and for the 
little one upstairs whom I love so well.^^ 

And Cecile could say no more; it would have been 
churlish and unkind to have refused after this. 

Her composure well-nigh forsook her when Dr. Mor- 
timer — after having attended to everything for her com- 
fort at the station at Oakland, whither he had accom- 
panied her — came to the little private compartment 
which he had taken for her in a palace car, so that Daisy 
might rest without being disturbed, to bid her good- 
by."" 

He first took the little one into his arms, holding her 
in a close, clinging clasp, while he kissed many times 
the small, sweet face which was just beginning to look 
like itself once more. 

Then he put her into a large chair, dropped a box of 
pretty toys into her lap, and turned to Cecile. 

In silence, for the choking sensation in her throat 
would not let her speak, she gave him both her hands in 
a fierce clasp, of which he was utterly unconscious, in 
the bitter pain of this parting. 

You will write me immediately upon your arrival; I 
shall be very anxious to hear from you,"" he said, in un- 
steady tones. 

Yes, I will write,"" she returned, falteringly; ^^but, 
oh! my friend, you have been so good to me, and now, 
at this last moment, I cannot find words to thank you; 
but you knoio that I am not ungrateful."" 


m 


A mUE ARiSTOCnAT. 


I do not want your gratitude/'’ he answered sadly, 

but I hope to retain a place in your memory always/'’ 

‘•You cannot doubt that you will/^ she said, with 
eager reproach; ^^my best friend, I could never torgQt 
you/^ 

His lips trembled with the passionate feelings in his 
heart, which longed to find expression in words. 

But he would not wound her again; he had promised 
her that he would not refer to his love, and he would not 
break his word. 

‘^‘No; I think you will not forget me,^^ he replied, 
with a mournful smile; ‘'‘'but if you are ever in trouble 
again — if you ever need me, you will let me know."’'’ 

“ I have no other friend who is tried and true — yes, if 
I need you, I will tell you,'’^ she said, sorrowfully. 

The bell now rang, and he knew that he must go — 
the last moment had come. 

God bless you, Cecile, and if there is anything that 
will brighten your future, I pray that He will send it to 
you,’'’ was his parting benediction, while his eyes lingered 
on her face with a look that she never forgot — it was so 
full of a deathless love mingled with despair. 

Stooping he touched her forehead lightly with his lips, 
leaving there a caress such as he would have given to a 
dearly loved sister, and then went quickly out; while she, 
with a sense of loneliness and desolation such as she had 
not experienced for months, hid her face in her hands 
and sobbed bitterly. 

She could not know that it was a final farewell which 
they had just taken of each other; that they were des- 
tined never to meet again in this world; but the parting 
was every bit as painful as if she had known it. 

She could not rid herself of the feeling that if she had 
never come to San Francisco to seek his aid, his future 
might have been a brighter and a happier one, and this 
thought caused her intense pain. 

A week later, at the very time when Howard Mont- 
gomery was hurrying back to Hew York, in a desperate 
search for work and forgetfulness, she arrived at Sara- 
toga, and took rooms at the Congress House. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


281 


She had teles^raphed to Martha to dismiss the girls for 
a vacation, close the house, and meet her there; and the 
faithful girl was at the station waiting for her, and sprang 
eagerly forward to greet her as she alighted, weary and 
travel-stained, from the train. 

She was shocked to see her beatiful mistress looking 
so poorly, but she quietly assumed all the care of getting 
settled in their rooms, coaxed Daisy into quiet and good- 
nature, and hovered around Cecile with such loving at- 
tentions that she began at once to experience a sense of 
comfort and relief. 

The rest, the pure, bracing air, and ‘the waters, seemed 
to be just what she needed, and she had not been there 
a week before she began both to feel and to look better. 

She spent much of her time out of doors, thus gain- 
ing strength and an appetite, while already the old, 
beautiful, delicate tint was stealing back into her cheeks. 

The day on which she had met with the accident of 
which we have before spoken, and when George Anthony 
had come to her aid, she with Daisy, and Martha, had 
been spending several hours in the Park wandering about 
in its cool, shadowy avenues, or resting beneath some 
shady tree. 

^‘’1 think we will return to the hotel, she said, at 
last, to Martha, as the sound of voices warned them that 
people were beginning to gather for their afternoon 
promenade. 

But Daisy, who was never so happy as when in the 
open air, was much opposed to this proposition, and in- 
stantly began to raise some forcible, if not musical, ob- 
jections to it. 

Let me keep her, madam, until it is time to dress 
for dinner, Martha said. ‘^1 should like to stay, too, 
a while longer. The distance is not great, and I can 
easily carry Miss Daisy in my arms, if she is too weary 
to walk/'’ 

The good girl knew that her mistress would take a re- 
freshing nap if left to herself; while, with Daisy running 
and chatting about, there would be no such thing as 
sleep for her. 


282 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


Very well; if you like to stay you can; but the sun 
and air has made me very drowsy, and I prefer to re- 
turn/^ Cecile answered, and so went back to her car- 
riage alone. 

Martha watched her with a quiet smile uutil she dis- 
appeared from sight, glad to see something of the old, 
resolute light coming bac/^ her eyes, and animation 
and color to her face. 

And thus it was, while on her way to her carriage, 
that Cecile had stepped upon that rolling stone, turned 
her ankle, and fallen, and George Anthony had sprung 
to her assistance, and they together had afterward en- 
countered Mrs. Langley. 

Had Daisy been with her, her identity must have been 
revealed to the physician at once, and this would have re- 
sulted in the immediate reunion of the long-separated, 
long-sorrowing husband and wife. 

But it was not so to be. 

Fate had other work to accomplish first. 


A TRUE AmSTOCRAT. 


m 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


‘^EKTEEED IKTOKEST.'’^ 

HREE days after Cecil e^’s departure from San Fran- 



1 cisco, there occurred a fearful tragedy, which 
sealed the doom of a grand and noble man — which 
proved to be the summons that called Gregory Mortimer 
to leave earth^s toils and cares, its pain and disappoint- 
ment, and ^‘^come up higher. 

He was .returning from his office, after a wearisome 
interview with the numerous patients who crowded to 
him for advice during the hours which he devoted to 
such work, when, just as he was about to turn a corner, 
he saw a heavily loaded team coming from the opposite 
direction. 

The street was very steep just there, and it was under 
such head^vay that it would have been very difficult to 
stop it under any circumstances. 

A child, unmindful of the danger, attempted to cross 
to the opposite sidewalk. 

Dr. Mortimer knew it would not do, and called to him 
to come back. 

He did not hear or heed, and the physician sprang 
forward just in season to prevent his being run down 
and crushed beneath the wagon. 

At that instant the wind caught his hat from his head 
and hurled it into the face of one of the animals. It 
was enough. Both brutes became frightened and un- 
manageable, turned short in their career, and the team 
was sent crashing back with cruel force against a lamp- 
post and the curbing. 

The boy was saved; but Dr. Mortimer by some 
means became penned, and was driven backward and 
crushed between the heavy wagon and the post, and 




284 TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

when he was at length released he was thought to be 
dead. 

No one can describe the feeling of desolation which 
settled like a pall over his heart as, after he had taken 
leave of Cecile, he returned to his rooms and found them 
so empty and forsaken. 

He was a strong man, but the trial through which he 
was passing was no ordinary one, and the restraint which 
he had imposed upon himself for so long could not last 
forever, and he was almost ready to say, with one of old. 

My soul is weary of my life!^^ 

Two long hours he spent alone, shut into those 
rooms which the woman whom he had so hopelessly 
loved had occupied for so many weeks, and which 
seemed to him to have been almost sanctified by her 
presence; and no one save himself and the One to whom 
he took all his woe ever knew what transpired during 
that time. 

But the fashion of his face was changed when he 
came forth. 

He was calm, but he had aged visibly, and his eyes 
were hollow and sunken, although there was a look of 
resignation and patience in them, which told that he 
had accepted his chastening as from the hand of One 
whom he trusted and upon whom he leaned — it was a 
look of ‘^Thy will, not mine, be doneP^ 

As he opened his chamber door and came out into 
the pretty parlor, his foot came in contact with some- 
thing lying upon the carpet. He stooped and picked it 
up. 

It was one of Daisy’s little shoes — a little blue kid 
shoe, worn, and soiled, and wrinkled. 

His breath came quickly, like a sob, and for a moment 
it seemed as if his courage must fail — as if he could not 
bear his exceeding loneliness, or to think that he should 
hear the patter of her tiny feet or the sound of her sweet, 
childish voice no more. 

But, holding it tenderly in his hand, he walked to 
the mantel and laid it where his eye would fall upon it 
whenever he entered the room; and there it remained. 


A TRUE ARmTOGRAT. 


285 


until that suffering father came and carried it away, he- 
lieving that it was all that remained of his lost darling 
upon earth. 

When Gregory Mortimer came forth again he as- 
sumed his usual manner, and went about his customary 
duties with his habitual faithfulness and energy. 

When, two days afterward, he was brought there help- 
less, bruisec}, and mortally injured, he knew that he 
should never go out again until they took him away to a 
long, last rest after his labors, his torn heart at peace, 
his sorrow and suffering all over. 

Then it was that he realized that God^’s -way’^ was 

best."’"’ 

I could not see \i then,” \\q murmured to himself, 
a strong, clear light in his eyes, a smile on his tender 
lips, but now 1 kiioio. It would have been cruel to 
have won her and then left her to battle wdth life alone 
again. Ah ! yes, Cecile, you said truly. God will not 
let me suffer long — I shall indeed have my ^reward" 
very soon.^’ 

When, after an examination to ascertain the extent 
of his injuries, they told him that the end was very 
near, he surprised thein all by calmly saying: 

I know it, and I am ready. 

I am ready Who can say it? 

What glorious words they were! What calm assur- 
ance they bespoke — what trust — what a sense of work 
well done, of a life well spent, a heart and conscience at 
rest, and blameless in the sight of his Maker! 

The supreme moment of his life had come, and he 
was ready to meet it. 

It will come to us all — shall we be able to echo those 
sublime words that Gregory Mortimer uttered when he 
knew that the end was at hand? 

How long will my strength hold out?^^ he asked of 
a brother physician, whom he had sent for to attend him 
at this trying time. 

A few days — three — perhaps four,^^ was the reluctant 
reply. 

The calm light in those eyes did not waver as he 
heard it. ^ 


m 


A TRXTE ARISTOCRAT. 


Let my brother be summoned at once/^ he said, and 
then dictated the message, and gave the address to which 
it was to be sent. 

^^Now bring me pen, ink and paper/^ he briefl}" com- 
manded, and it was brought. 

With a steady hand he penned a brief but clear and 
legal will, and signed it in the presence of the other 
pliysic'tan and Mrs. Lawson, who also affixed, their names 
to the document as witnesses at his desire. 

Then he asked to be left alone for awhile, and they, 
knowing that nothing could harm or help him now, 
gratified every wish. 

Then, with a hand that was not quite so steady as 
when he had pennecf the will, he wrote a letter to 
Cecile. 

It was like this — tender and considerate, and with an 
evident effort not to pain her by making any allusion to 
what he had suffered on her account: 

My Dear : — I have that to tell you which I 

know will cause you grief, yet perhaps it will shock you 
less to learn it from me than froni others. I have only 
a few days to live, having been mortally injured by an 
accident to-day. 1 will leave the particulars for others 
to tell you, as I fear my strength may desert me before 
I can say all that I wish. At present I am so benumbed 
by my bruises and injuries that I do not suffer much, 
and so I will give these precious moments to you. You 
were a true prophet, my friend — I am to have my ^ re- 
ward," and noio I can see That ^ God knew best." But 
do not allow this to grieve you too much, dear — of course 
it would be hard to feel that you would not regret that 
we shall never meet on earth again. I know you will 
sorrow on account of it, but try to remember that I have 
only ^entered into my rest" — have gone where there will 
never be any more pain. But, Cecile, although I am 
dying, I cannot forget that you may live for years — I 
pray God to grant it for little Daisy"s sake — but I cannot 
go in peace, knowing that you must toil on during the 
future, as you have done in the ^Dast — laboring with your 


A TEUE ARISTOCBAT. 


287 

busy hands and brain for your daily bread. I told you 
once that I had no relatives save a brother. He is a 
very dear brother, but wealthy and childless; so, my 
friend^ I am going to make — or rather I have already 
made — your little girl, your Daisy, my heiress. My will 
is written, signed and sealed, and given into the hands 
of a good man who will see that my wishes are fully 
carried out. You are to have entire control of the in- 
come of this fortune— some seventy-five thousand dollars— 
until Daisy is of age or marries. I know I cannot leave 
it in better hands, and with the knowledge that you will 
never need to toil any more, I can close my eyes upon 
the world and be content. Accept it, Cecile, for your 
child, as the legacy of a dear brother, whose greatest joy 
in life has been to. have known and loved you; who, 
dying, clings only to you of all that is earthly. Fare- 
well, my beloved, for a time; but in the eternity where 
I am going before you we shall meet again by and by, 
the pain of worldly disappointment all gone, sorrows all 
forgotten, mysteries all solved, in the light of an unend- 
ing day of peace and joy and love. God bless you ever, 
is the dying prayer of Geegory Mortimer.'" 

He was very weary after writing this letter, but he had 
still another to write. 

This was to his brother, telling him of his condition, 
of what he had done with his property, and why he had 
disposed of it in the way that he had. 

She is the only woman whom I ever loved, Henry," 
he wrote; ^^she has been toiling nobly, bravely for her- 
self and child; but I know that she cannot endure it 
long; she will break down under the constant strain, and 
her child will then be left motherless. I believe that 
you will cheerfully assist in executing my wishes, know- 
ing that it makes me supremely content to do this for 
her — my Cecile." 

It was the last word that he ever wrote — it was the 
last that he ever spoke. 

Two days later, only a little while after the arrival of 
his brother, who could not reach him earlier, he turned 




288 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


his face toward the western window, through which the 
setting sun was pouring a flood of golden, glorious light, 
and knew that his hour was come! 

His eyes were still clear and steadfast, his face calm 
and placid, and as he watched that great ball of fire dis- 
appear from sight his lips relaxed into a smile, and he 
murmured softly: 

^Hn heaven, Cecile/' 

Then with one long-drawn sigh his grand soul went 
up to God, the battle over, the victory won, and his re- 
ward attained. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


289 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


GLAD TIDINGS. 


REGORY MORTIMER had arranged all his affairs 
and ^^set his house in order with a calmness and 



thoughtfulness which astonished all who attended him. 
during his short but fatal illness. 

He told them that he wished to be buried there, where 
he had labored and spent the strongest, busiest portion 
of his life, and where those who had known, trusted and 
loved him for what he had done for them might some- 
times, perhaps, pass by and mark his resting-place, and 
thus keep his memory green within their hearts. 

So they laid his bruised and mangled body in a lovely 
spot in the Masonic Cemetery, and the brethren of his 
craft left nothing undone which could testify to the 
esteem and affection with which he was regarded by 
them. 

A rich but simple sarcophagus of granite, bearing his 
name and age, with the words, Be ye also ready,” 
marks the spot where he sleeps. 

The only relatives who followed him thither w'ere his 
brother and his wife, or the beautiful lady who went 
aw’ay with him after the funeral,” as the stupid servant 
had told Howard Montgomery, thus leading him to be- 
lieve that Cecile had gone away with Dr. Mortimer^s 
brother. 

But there were many other sincere mourners, for the 
noble and skillful physician possessed a large circle of 
friends, who felt, when he was taken from them, as if 
their chief dependence had been removed, so greatly did 
they prize the wisdom and knowledge which he always 
manifested in his profession. 

After all was over his brotherfaithfully helped to carry 


290 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


out the wishes expressed in his will, and then left it with 
the lawyer whom he had employed to communicate with 
Cecile regarding the fortune which had fallen to her 
little daughter so unexpectedly. 

Word was sent to her immediately regarding the death 
of her friend, his bequest, and also inclosing the letter 
which he had written to her. 

But he had not known which hotel she had intended 
to take rooms in; therefore he had only addressed it to 
Saratoga. 

Consequently, Cecile, who had no thought of hearing 
from him until after she had written to tell him of her 
arrival, and where she would stop, did not receive it 
until nearly three weeks after his death, it having lain 
in the post-office until it was advertised in the daily 
papers. 

She had been obliged to remain quietly in her room 
for a few days after her accident in the Park, on account 
of the injury to her foot, which, although it was not 
badly sprained, was yet somewhat swollen and lame. 

It was while thus laid up that she saw her name among 
the list of advertised letters. 

She sent Martha at once to get the letter, and she was 
shocked and grieved beyond expression upon learning 
the sad news which it contained, and also greatly sur- 
prised that he should have made Daisy his heir. 

The lawyer wrote all the particulars of the accident 
which had caused his death, also of the funeral obse- 
quies, and closed by saying that he would await orders 
from her regarding what should be done with the fortune 
which had fallen to her child. 

It was mostly in stocks and bonds, he wrote, and could 
easily be disposed of, or transferred to where she could 
more conveniently control it. 

Over Dr. Mortimer's own letter Cecile shed many bit- 
ter tears. It was so tender and thoughtful, so resigned 
to the inevitable, yet hopeful for the future; and she 
doubted if she should ever find another friend so faith- 
ful and true. She k7ie‘io she should never prize another 
as she had prized him. 


A TMUB ARISTOCBAT. 


291 


And how kind — how considerate it was in him to 
provide so generously for her future — in such a delicate 
manner, too! 

What her pride would have prompted her to reject for 
herself she could not refuse for her child; and yet she 
knew he had done, this solely to obviate all necessity for 
future labor on her part; the income, entirely at her 
control, would place her in a position of ease and com- 
fort, and slie could give Daisy every advantage, without 
the slightest care or anxiety as to where she should 
obtain the means. It was an intense relief, yet obtained 
at what a sacrifice! 

All day long she secluded herself, and gave herself up 
to the grief which she could not control. 

It seemed terrible to her that a man like Gregory 
Mortimer — one so useful and capable of doing so much 
good in the world — should be thus tragically cut down 
just in the prime of life. 

He had written of his approaching death as if he were 
merely going to rest after a day of toil and weariness, 
and was grateful for the release. 

Yet those last words of his, which told her that his 

greatest joy on earth had been to know and love her,"' 
and who, dying, clung only to her of all that was earthly, 
betrayed to her something of what his heart had suffered, 
and the knowledge nearly broke her own. 

^^How alone I am in this great, busy world!" she 
sobbed, with that letter folded tightly in her hands; 
'Glow almost everything and every one whom I have 
loved has been taken from me! Must I go on until the 
end, thus depending entirely upon myself, with no one 
to say a cheering or comforting word to me! Oh, How- 
ard, where are you? Are you in heaven with him, or 
do you still exist in some secret place on the earth ? If 
I could but go to your grave, as I can and shall to his 
some time, I could be more resigned; but this mystery, 
this uncertainty that is yet almost certainty, is too hard 
to bear. 

"And yet,” she added, remorsefully, "I have no right to 
murmur when my pathway has been so carefully smpothed 


292 


A TBUB ABISTOCBAT. 


for me, and my child given back to me almost from the 
jaws of death. I will not complain; I will bear these 
sorrows patientl}^, taking them as reminders that it is 
not ^ all of life to live,^ and that those who mourn'’ here 
will ‘ be comforted ^ there. 

While Cecile was confined to her room, and grieving ’ 
over the loss of her best friend, George Anthony, in 
spite of Helen Langley’s maneuvers to keep him at her 
side and out of harm's way, made a startling discovery. 

He had occasion to go to the Congress House, on the 
very day that Cecile received her sad tidings, to meet a 
friend, who had lately arrived, on business. 

He went to the office, where they had agreed to meet, 
but the gentleman was not there, and while waiting for 
him he began listlessly turning over the leaves of the 
register. 

All at once his eye caught the name of Montgomery. 
He started, and looked closer. 

^‘'Mrs. Howard Montgomery, child, and nurse,'’'’ he 
read, and their place of residence was given as New 
York; 

His face paled. 

^•It is a singular coincidence — if it is a coincidence,” 
he muttered, becoming quite excited. 

He looked again, to ascertain the date of their arrival. 
It was three weeks ago. 

An expression of disappointment clouded his face. 

Perhaps, after all, they might not be there now. 

^^Is there a Mrs. Montgomery stopping here now?” he 
asked, turning to the clerk. 

‘‘Yes, sir,” he answered, and a thrill went tingling 
through Dr. Anthony^s veins. 

“ How old a woman is she?” 

“ Two or three-and-tvventy, perhaps, and the finest- 
looking woman in the hotel, too, by George!” responded 
the voluble young man, who had an appreciative eye for 
beauty. 

“The child— what is it?” 

“ A little fairy of a girl.” 

“How old?” George Anthony questioned, almost 
breathlessly. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 293 

Between three and four I should jud^e. Know 
^em?^^ the clerk asked, regarding him curiously. 

‘‘ No,^ but — I know of them/^ he returned, while he 
could with difficulty control his excitement. 

If this should indeed pro veto be his friend’s wife — if, 
after all, as the name upon the register indicated, she 
had not married that San Francisco physician — if the 
report that the child had died was, as he began to be- 
lieve, a false one — what a revolution in Howard Mont- 
gomery’s life would transpire upon its discovery. 

For several moments he could not collect his thoughts 
sufficiently to know what steps it was best to take in the 
matter. 

Should he seek an interview with this Mrs. Mont- 
gomery, and ascertain for himself if his suspicions were 
correct, before communicating with his friend? Or 
should he telegraph at once to Howard to come on and 
make his own investigations? 

He shut the book and went out upon the veranda, 
forgetting entirely the business engagement that had 
brought him there, and sat down to think. 

It was late in the afternoon, and the ladies and gentle- 
men sojourning in the hotel had begun to gather in the 
cool, pleasant place where the band would soon dis- 
course to them delightful music, and where prettily 
dressed children were also running about, filling the air 
with their merry voices and happy laughter. 

George Anthony eagerly scanned every countenance, 
hoping to find one which resembled that beautiful face 
on porcelain which Howard had once shown him, with 
those deep blue eyes, and cro|vned with lovely golden 
hair. 

But no, it was not there; it would not have escaped 
him if it had been. 

Over in one corner, at the further end of the veranda, 
however; there was a little group which attracted his at- 
tention. 

A plain but honest-looking girl was sitting in a low 
chair, with some light work in her hands, while a lovely 
child played about her. 


294 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


This little one was peculiarly dainty in her appear- 
ance, dressed in white, with Broad blue ribbons, tiny 
blue slioes, and with a wealth of waving golden hair 
floating over her shoulders. 

She seemed to be very fond of her nurse, for every 
few minutes she would run to her, throw her small 
arms about her neck, and put up her little face to be 
kissed. 

George Anthony got up from his chair and began to 
pace back and forth upon the veranda, extending his 
walk a little further at every turn. 

Finally he approached tlie spot where Martha — for it 
was she — was sitting. 

As he came near he stopped and put out his hand 
with a pleasant smile to Daisy, who was now standing 
by the railing. * 

She glanced at him shyly but did not take the prof- 
fered hand. 

‘‘ What is your name, baby?” he asked. 

^‘No,” she returned, shaking her golden head with 
some show of spirit, as if she disdained the appellation, 
‘'not lahy, but Daisy, 

His heart bounded, but his lips trembled as he said, 
benignantly: 

“That is a pretty name, little one; but tell me your 
other — Daisy what?” 

“Daisy Montgomery,” she replied, hesitating slightly 
over the long word, as she always did, “and that is 
Martha,” she added, pointing with one slender Anger to 
the girl, as if she felt sure that he would take as much 
interest as she did in that very kind and useful person. 

Martha was watching her little charge with a smile 
of pride on her lips, but she colored slightly as attention 
was thus drawn toward herself. 

George Anthony bowed slightly, and then went 
directly to her side, determined to solve his suspicion at 
once. 

“ Pardon me,” he said, courteously, “ but whose little 
girl is this?” 

“Mrs. Montgomery's, sir,” she returned, respectfully. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


295 


Mrs. Howard Moutgoinery?^' 

Yes, sir/^ 

The same who returned from Europe in such trouble 
about three years ago?^' 

Yes, sir,^' she repeated, wondering at his eager- 
ness, and that he appeared to know so much about her 
mistress. 

‘‘ Is she — could I see her? I am an old friend of her 
husband’s."^ 

He was nearly wild, now that he was convinced of 
all that he had suspected, to have everything explained. 

Mrs. Montgomery is ill to-day, sir. She is unable 
to see anyone,'’^ Martha returned, with so much decision 
that he could not press the matter further. 

regret to hear it. Perhaps she may be able to see 
me to-morrow, he said, bowing. . Then after softly pat- 
ting Daisy’s pink cheek with a hand that still trembled 
with excitement, he turned away and went with quick, 
eager steps back into the hotel. 

Five minutes later a message went flashing over the 
wires to Howard Montgomery in New York. 

‘^Come at once,'’^ it said; “ business of grave import- 
ance awaits you.'” 

Howard, receiving it later, wondered, with a frown 
of annoyance, what his friend could want with him 
that he should summon him back to Saratoga thus im- 
peratively. 

It could not be that Helen was ill or in any trouble, 
else he would not have said ^‘business” awaited him, 
and he knew of no one there with whom he had any 
business relations whatever. 

He did not want to go; he did not like the gay place; 
he shunned society of every kind, preferring the solitude 
of his office, where he could indulge, unobserved, in his 
own sad thoughts, and where there was no necessity of 
assuming an indilference or cheerfulness which he did 
not experience. 

But he did not feel at liberty to disregard the sum- 
mons. 

His friend might have become involved in some 


296 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


trouble and need him, and he would be ungrateful, in- 
deed, after all that he had done for him, to refuse to go 
to him under such circumstances. So to Saratoga he 
must return. 

Had he but had the remotest suspicion of the glad 
tidings awaiting ‘him he would not have moved about his 
preparations in such a languid, reluctant manner, in- 
wardly fuming and fretting over the journey he was 
obliged to take, and the effort it cost him. 

The wings of the wind would not have been swift 
enough to have borne him to Cecile, if he had known she 
was there. 

But all things have their season, and it was not time, 
even yet, for that glad meeting. 


A TMJ7JS ABISTOCEAT. 


297 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE MEETING. 

T he next morning, after receiving the news of the 
death of her friend, Cecile arose much depressed. 
She had slept but little during the night, owing to the 
excitement and nervousness of the day before, while she 
felt that there was now no one in the world to whom she 
could turn in time of trouble. 

I do not believe there is another woman living who 
is so utterly alone in the world as I am,^'’she murmured, 
as she listlessly made her toilet, and wondered how she 
could endure the long hours of that day. 

Martha had told her of the gentleman who had in- 
quired for her the day before, and who had appeared so 
interested upon discovering that she was there; but she 
had not paid much heed to the circumstance. 

Even if he had been a friend of Howard^s it would 
only pain her to meet him; she could not bear to talk 
about him with any one, for it a ways opened all her 
wounds afresh whenever she spoke of him. 

If he called again she supposed it would be uncour- 
teous not to see him; but the thought gave her no pleas- 
ure, and she had not the slighest suspicion that he was 
the same person who had come to her assistance when 
she had fallen in the Park. 

His intention had been to seek her again in the morn- 
ing, and prepare her somewhat for the reunion with her 
husband, then meet Howard at the station when the 
train arrived, and take him at once to her; but 

“ The bes; laid schemes o’ mice and men 
Gang aft a-gley, 

and so he was destined to be disappointed in carrying 
out his plans just as he wished. 


298 


A TJiiriJ AmSrOCBAT. 


Immediately after partaking of her late breakfast, 
Cecile donned her hat and mantle, and tying a vail close 
over her sad, tear-stained face, she told Martha that she 
was going for a walk in the park, and then went out. 

She wanted to be alone; her heart was so sore with its 
burden of grief, and life, as she now viewed it, looked 
so long and so destitute of everything, aside from her 
child, to make it attractive. 

She could not endure Martha^s sympathetic glances, 
nor Daisy’s merry chatter and play. She wanted to get 
away from every sound. 

She sought a lonely portion of the Park, away from 
the more frequented walks and avenues, and finally 
found the seclusion she desired, and sat down upon a 
grassy bank beneath the thick shadow of some trees and 
shrubs, where she gave herself up unrestrainedly to her 
sad thoughts. 

She had been there two hours, but had been so ab- 
sorbed in sorrowful memories of the past that she was 
v/holly unconscious of the lapse of time. 

Weakf and nervous from the loss of sleep, she could 
not stay the falling tears; she had no control over her- 
self, and she wept almost constantly. 

So oblivious was she to all things that she did not see 
a darkly-robed figure stealing softly toward her, or hear 
the cat-like footsteps which came hurrying to her side; 
but when a hand was suddenly and heavily laid upon 
her shoulder, she looked up with a startled glance, and 
found Helen Langley bending over her. 

‘‘You are here yet, are you? How came you here? 
What are you doing in Saratoga?” were the swift, fierce 
sentences which fell from her lips, while she regarded 
her with evil, glittering eyes. 

Cecile’s tears were dried in an instant now; her 
thoughts were rudely driven into a different channel, 
and she arose with an icy dignity which exasperated her 
sister-in-law almost beyond the power of self-control. 

“I do not consider that I am compelled to account to 
Mrs. Langley for my presence in Saratoga,” she said, 
boldly. 


A TUVB AmSTOOHAT. 


299 


Don’t you, indeed! It might be well for you to 
have some regard for your reputation, however,” Mrs. 
ijangley retorted, hotly. 

My reputation!” Cecile repeated, astonished. '^How 
can my being in Saratoga affect my reputation?” 

‘^That is a sensible question, truly, when you are 
aware that I know you have no means to be flourishing 
in this expensive place, and that it is only as the par- 
ticular friend — the favorite of Dr. Mortimer, of San 
Francisco, that you are enabled to be here at all.” 

Helen Langley regarded her with a keen, malicious 
look, as she made this outrageous statement. 

A scarlet stain rose to the masses of shining hair 
which crowned Oecile’s forehead at the unparalleled in- 
sult. 

^^You do not dare to charge me — the wife of your 
brother — with anything like that!” broke indignantly 
from her quivering lips, her pure soul aroused to arms at 
being thus assailed, while she confronted her dastardly 
accuser with a hauteur which took her somewhat aback. 

She began to think that she had aroused a sleeping 
lioness this time; but she was so enraged to find her 
there — so exasperated at the danger threatening her and 
all her schemes — that she was reckless of both Cecile’s 
feelings and her own language. 

She would have been glad to leave the Springs herself, 
but she could not make up her mind to go and leave 
George Anthony behind, with the risk of his meeting 
her sister-in-law again, and having all her treachery dis- 
covered. 

So she had determined to have an interview with 
Cecile and use all her arts to drive her from the place. 

She had been lying in wait for her for several days 
for this very purpose, but, as we know, had been disap- 
pointed on account of her accident. 

This morning, however, she had espied her on her 
way to the Park, and had followed her thither. 

She had some difliculty in finding her, and had 
been almost upon the point of relinquishing her search 
for that day, when she caught sight of the slender black- 


300 


A TUVJ^ AmsroaiiAT, 


robed figure through the thick shrubbery by which 
Cecile was surrounded, and thus stole upon her una- 
wares. 

Your assumption of virtuous indignation is exceed- 
ingly becoming,'*'’ she retorted, scornfully, but when a 
woman flies to a man as you flew to l)r. Mortimer — 
when she accepts his care and protection — living under 
the same roof with him — occupying his rooms, driving 

in his carriage 

Helen Langley, stop!’^ 

The interruption came like the report of a pistol, and 
startled the insolent woman almost as much as if it really 
had been one, and for a moment she was silenced by 
the authoritative command of the beautiful creature 
confronting her. 

Cecile was as colorless as a statute of alabaster, while 
the look of horror with which she regarded Mrs. Lang- 
ley was indescribable. 

But Mrs. Langley quickly recovered herself; if she 
could crush her and drive her from her path she was 
bound to do it at any cost. 

'^No, I will not stop,^" she answered; I have a right 
to denounce you for what I saw with my own eyes, for 
what I know from my own observation. Did the hand- 
some doctor come to Saratoga with you?’^ she concluded, 
with a sneer. 

^^Dr. Mortimer is dead,^^ came involuntary from 
Cecile^s white lips. 

Mrs. Langley looked blank for a moment after this 
startling information; but she rallied almost immedi- 
ately, and remarked, mockingly: 

‘‘Ah, indeed! that is sad for you, no doubt, but I 
trust he left you handsomely provided for."'* 

A moan of intense pain burst from the injured 
woman, and she leaned against a tree for support. She 
was appalled — almost benumbed. 

Hot only on account of this fearful aspersion implied 
against her own character and that of the man whom 
she had esteemed — almost reverenced — for his goodness 
and nobility, but for a sudden fear which took posses- 
sion of her. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


301 


Would the world, when it came to know of her kind 
friend^s legacy to her and her child, regard her relations 
with him in any such light as this? 

Such a thought had never before entered her heart. 
So conscious was she of her own purity and integrity — 
so confident of his honor — that she had never dreamed 
that anyone would so unjustly misconstrue his kind and 
thoughtful bequest. 

She was so startled, so overwhelmed for the moment, 
as to lose sight of the fact that none but the most vin- 
dictive and malicious person — one who desired her ruin 
— would ever take such a view of it, or that there was 
abundant evidence to prove Helen Langley^s vile insinu- 
ations false. 

*^It would be more to your credit, I think, she wont 
on, following up the advantage which she thought she 
was gaining, “ to keep away from a fashionable place 
like this, and to hide your head after the course you 
have been pursuing. At all events, you must know that 
it cannot contribute to my peace of mind to have you 
here, and live constantly in fear that the relationship 
which you once bore to me may be discovered.” 

Cecile recovered complete composure during this 
heartless speech, while the revengeful woman, with her 
vindictive insinuations, appeared too mean and con- 
temptible to be worthy of her notice, or of causing her 
a moment’s pain. 

She would not have believed, under any other circum- 
stances, that the sister of her noble-minded husband 
could be guilty of anything so entirely beneath a pure 
woman, or that she would allow herself to be so governed 
by spite and passion. 

She lifted her small head proudly — she met with a 
steady, unflinching gaze the vindictive gleam in Helen’s 
eyes, while her lips curled with an expression of in- 
effable scorn. 

If my husband had not told me that you were his 
sister, I never would have believed it,” she said. I 
find it difficult to imagine that one drop of kindred blood 
flows in your veins — he so noble — you so craven in your 


302 


A ABISTOOHAT. 


nature. But if you object to residing in the same place 
with me, if you are fearful that our relationship will be 
discovered, there is one alternative which can be adopted, 
Mrs. Langley.'’^ 

‘"And that?^^ began Helen, a passionate look leaping 
into her dark eyes. 

‘"You can become a resident of some other place at 
your earliest convenience,^^ was the calm rejoider. 

"" Do you dare stand there and reply to me with such 
insolence as that — youy almost a beggar!"" was the fierce 
retort, although the arrogant woman winced as she 
pronounced that word, as she realized how appropriately 
it might be applied to herself now. 

Cecile"8 proud figure grew more proudly erect, and 
there was a haughty grace in her whole attitude that 
would have done honor to a queen. 

A beggar! 

How little Mrs. Langley dreamed of the snug fortune, 
with its handsome income, which she would henceforth 
control. 

How completely their positions were reversed since 
their interview on that day before Oecile’s marriage! 

"" Helen Langley,"" she began, with quiet scorn, "" I 
dare stand here to defend my honor and purity before 
you, or even the whole world, if need be. I told you 
when we met in San Francisco that 1 would not bear 
much more from you, and I will not. If you persist 
in assailing me thus, I shall not hesitate to take vigor- 
ous measures to silence you. More than once you 
have used the term "beggar" to me — it seems to be a 
favorite word of yours, Mrs. Langley, but it has not a 
pleasant sound — it is not becoming to one belonging 
to the "noble house of Montgomery" to use so vulgar 
a term; besides it is not true, and I have the pleasure of 
announcing to you that 1 have the control of a vc j 
handsome fortune; yes — and it was a bequest from Dr. 
Mortimer. So yon perceive, madam,"" and Cecile’s clear 
tones rose to a mocking cadence, ""that he has left 
me "handsomely provided for;" but you know, as 
well as I, that your vile insinuations are entirely without 


A TRUE ABI8T0CEAT, 


303 


foundation, and if I should call you to account for them 
— as I surely shall if you do not let me alone — they could 
be disproved by abundant testimony/^ 

Mrs. Langley opened her mouth to speak; but Cecile, 
whose courage was rising with every passing moment, and 
who felt more and more contempt for her, silenced her 
with an imperative gesture. 

‘‘I have but very little more to say,^^ she said, ‘^so 
pray listen without interrupting me. Do you know you 
.impress me as being very cowardly in your nature, not- 
withstanding your boasted pride. No one who had true 
courage and nobility would ever assail a sorrowing 
woman as you have assailed me so many times; and now 
it seems to me to'day as if in some vyay you are afraid of 
me, and have assumed this abusive attitude in order to 
drive me to desperation and protect yourself from either 
some real or imaginary evil.^^ 

Helen Langley^s face assumed a startled look at these 
words; but Oecile, appearing not to heed it, went on: 

However, I am digressing. I wished to say that 
with plenty of money at my disposal, I now have it in 
my power to bring you to justice for the abduction of 
my child. 

I would not like to have it said that a Montgomery 
went to war against a Montgomery; but have a care, 
Helen, for I am no longer a women to be trampled upon, 
and not even the fact of your having borne the name 
which I now bear will save you from my indignation if 
you continue to persecute me. I bore your abuse and 
insults before my marriage in silence, simply because I 
would not trouble Howard with them; I could not bear 
to shame him by exposing the littleness of his sister’s 
character, and I never told him of it, nor of your cow- 
ardly note and threat on the day that we sailed for 
Europe. When I returned, alone," friendless, destitute, 
and in such deep trouble, I was obliged to endure your 
heartless taunts and scorn, and refusal to aid me, for I 
had no means of defending myself. 

What do vo'i suppose your brother would say to yon, 
Helen if he were living, and should know that 


304 


A TBUB ABISTOCB AT. 


you refused even a pittance from his large fortune to 
support his wife and child? — that you strove to make 
me believe that he had cruelly deserted me, and tried to 
crush me by every means in your power? But your day 
is over; mine is just begun; and, when I leave Saratoga, 
I go immediately to New York to lay claim to my hus- 
band^s fortune.” 

Mrs. Langley uttered a sharp cry at this. 

Believing Cecile to be poor, she had never thought of 
such a contingency as this. 

You shall never do it,” she cried, furiously. You 
will not dare.” 

It would be the ruin of all her schemes, and would 
result in the immediate reunion of Howard and his 
wife. 

You have yet to find how much I can dai’e,” Cecile, 
calmly rejoined; I have not fought the battle of life 
for the last three years successfully for nothing. I have 
received some scars in the contest, it is true, but I have 
gained a strength and courage which has placed me be- 
yond all fear of you. As for what you have said regard- 
ing my reputation, it cannot harm me; I shall not give 
it a second thought, for” — and here her beautiful face 
became almost glorified by the tender light which swept 
over it — I have never for a moment loved any one save 
my husband; I have been true and steadfast to his 
memory; my heart is still with him, and I shall live my 
life to the end as I have heretofore lived — alone, save 
for the society of my child ” 

‘^What! your child! Daisy! did she not die?” ejacu- 
lated Mrs. Langley, a look of startled fear blanching her 
face. 

"'No, Daisy did not die; I should have been too 
wretched to live myself in that case.” 

"But they told me she was dying; I surely thought 
she must be dead,” Helen murmured, too astonished to 
realize fully the truth of the welcome tidings. 

" No, Daisy is well once more; but, Helen, I hope we 
shall never meet again, for it arouses all that is in me of 
evil. Go your way, and let me ^lone henceforth, and 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT 


305 


cast aside your suspicions — if they are suspicion?, and 
not a malicious desire to injure me. I shall never marry 
any one; I belong alone to Howard for time and for eter- 
nity; and when life is over, and I meet him in the other 
world; he will know that I am, and always have been, 
true to him.-’^ 

What was it that made Helen Langley start forward at 
this moment, with a half-suppressed shriek? 

What was it that made her look as if some sudden and 
fearful judgment had overtaken, her; that made her 
quake and shiver as if some icy blast had chilled her 
through, while she sank to the ground and covered her 
ashen face with her trembling hands? 

Cecile, astonished to see her so terrified, turned to as- 
certain what had caused it, and found herself suddenly 
encircled by a pair of strong arms, and drawn close to a 
wildly beating heart, while her head was laid upon a 
manly breast, and her cheek wet with fast-falling tears. 

“ He knows it now,” my darling,” a broken voice mur- 
mured in her ears; “he knows it now; and, oh! my be- 
loved, heaven itself could hold no greater joy than that 
of this moment!” 


306 


A AHISTOCBAT. 


CHAPTER XXXVIIL 

LIGHT BREAKS. 

W AS she not in heaven ? Was it possible for a per- 
son to be transported in an instant of time from 
the cares, vexations, and sorrows of earth to such full- 
ness of joy as this? 

Cecile did not faint when she found herself clasped in 
her husband’s arms; she had not been guilty of that 
weakness once during all the years that she had suffered 
and toiled alone — not once since that day when she had 
arrived in New York, and every hope of ever seeing her 
dear one again had been extinguished. 

But, although her senses were clear, and she had not 
been cc^scious of any sudden shock when she recognized 
him, and though she knew she was lying upon his breast, 
and he was raining tears and kisses upon her upturned 
face, and calling her by her every fond and loving name 
that had been familiar to her ears before she had lost 
him, yet she was powerless to move hand or foot. 

She had been strong to face her bitter enemy but a 
moment before; she would have been strong to face the 
whole world and battle for her truth and honor, as she 
had asserted; but now, in the presence of this great joy, 
this blessedness which she had never believed would be 
hers again on earth, she was as weak as an infant, abso- 
lutely strengthless; and she could only lie there motion- 
less, looking up into that fond face bending over her, 
and wonder: 

‘‘Am I not in heaven?” 

“ Cecile! my wife! why do you not speak to me? Have 
I come upon you too suddenly? Have I shocked you? 
I did not mean to; I promised I would approach you 


A TRUB AniSTOGRAT. 


307 

gently, quietly, and not startle you; but I was driven 
wild by what I overheard. Oh, "my darling! how have 
you borne it all? — for I have heard nearly every word 
that you have uttered. I crept near so still that you did 
not hear me, and stood behind the trunk of the tree 
yonder, to wait until George should break the news of 
my presence to you; but all my manhood has revolted 
against the revelation to which I have listened, and at 
your last words I could endure it no lonj^er. My be- 
loved, how you have been abused! how you have suffered! 
Speak to me, loveT' 

Howard Montgomery hung over his recovered treasure 
in an ecstacy of joy, which was yet mingled with some- 
thing of alarm at her protracted silence. 

But even at his bidding she could not speak; it seemed 
as if she had been rendered dumb in that supreme mo- 
ment when the whole world became changed, glorified, 
for her. Her eyes never left his face — they lingered 
lovingly upon it, her starved heart feasting upon its 
dear, familiar lines. 

She put up one white hand weakly and touched his 
cheek in a caressing way that had been habitual with 
her of old. 

It was as if she were still questioning within herself 
whether he were really fiesh and blood, or whether they 
had not met in the spirit rather than in the body. 

Tlie touch seemed to re-assure her. A sigh of infinite 
(Content parted her lips, and, like a tired child, she 
nestled closer to him, lying there satisfied, almost willing 
to die while his dear arms inclosed ‘her. 

Howard — my husband !’' she breathed. 

Then, as if the effort had been too great, her white 
lids drooped, her hand fell helplessly upon her breast, 
and she lay as if she were dead. 

“ Anthony!^" Howard cried, in a sharp tone of pain — 
‘^come here! I fear I have killed her with my thought- 
lessness — my rashness. 

Instantly Cecile’s golden-fringed lids fiew up again, 
revealing a radiant look in her azure eyes. 

^•No, no,'^ she said softly, there is no harm done; 


308 


A AHISroCJiAT. 


only I am too, foo happy. Let me rest a little longer 
and try to realize my joyT^ 

And George Anthony, who had. sprung forward at the 
cry of his friend, was glad that he was not needed — glad 
to creep away again to hide his own red eyes and falling- 
tears. 


As soon as Dr. Anthony had deemed it proper, on the 
morning of these events, he had repaired to the Congress 
House again and sent up his card to Mrs. Montgomery, 
requesting an interview with her. 

But the clerk returned, saying there was no one in 
that lady^s rooms — she had probably gone out for a morn- 
ing walk somewhere, as was her custom. 

It happened that Daisy had slept very late that day, 
and at the time of his call Martha had just gone down 
into the dining-room with her to attend to her break- 
fast, and thus his call had come to naught. ^ 

He went from there to the station to await Howard^s 
arrival, and he heaved a sigh of relief upon catching a i 
glimpse of his haggard face, as the train steamed into 
the depot. 

Going to his side as he alighted, he linked his arm in 
his, and led him directly across the street to the Grand 
Union, and up into his own room. 

But he was half tempted to be provoked with him for ^ 
the listless inditference which he manifested as to the 
object of his journey hither. ■ 

He did not even inquire what the nature of the busi- 
ness for which he was wanted might be. • ^ 

It was plainly to be seen that he was still moody, ab- ' 
sent-minded, and unhappy. 

^^Are you too weary from your long ride to listen to 
some news?^^ Dr. Anthony asked at length. 

‘‘No, lam not tired. Have you anything very re- , 
markable for news?'’^ he returned, without the slightest ' 
appearance of interest. 

“I should say I have, man — man, what shall I do to J 
arouse you ? ^^George Anthony cried, impatiently. Do you 5 
suppose I should have sent for you in such "hot haste ') 


A TRUE AniSTOCRAT. 


309 


under ordinary circumstances? do you suspect noth- 
ing?- 

*‘What should I suspect ?^^ Howard asked, with a 
frown. 

He was too miserable to enjoy mysteries. 

I have found herT’ Dr. Anthony blurted out ab- 
ruptly. 

“Found her — whom?"^ his friend inquired, wonder- 
ing if he was to be made the confidant of some love 
atfair, but still without the slightest perception of the 
truth. 

Whom?” repeated the young doctor, almost savagely. 

“ Why, Cecile — Mrs. Montgomery — your tuife!” 

Howard sprang to his feet at this, as if he had been 
suddenly stung by some poisonous insect, while his 
already pale face became absolutely ghastly. 

My ivife!” he exclaimed, -bitterly, but in a hollow 
tone, while he gazed wildly at his friend. 

“Yes, your wife; she is here at the Congress House, 
registered as Mrs. Montgomery, and that story about 
her going to California and marrying that doctor is all a 
mistake.” 

“ It is not a mistake,” sternly returned Howard. 

“ But, Montgomery, I tell you it is, for ” began 

Dr. Anthony, excitedly; but Howard interrupted him: 

“ No; for since leaving Saratoga I have myself been to 
California and ascertained the truth. The Mrs. Mont- 
gomery whom you have found must be another woman 
by the same name.” 

" George Anthony looked blank for a moment at this 
intelligence, and wondered if he had indeed made a fool 
of himself by meddling with this thing. 

“ But — but no other Mrs. Hoiuard Montgomery would 
be likely to have a child named Daisy,” he began. 

“ Daisy — my Daisy is dead,” Howard answered, with 
white lips, while he pressed his arm close over that little 
worn shoe which he always wore next to his heart now. 

George Anthony's face brightened. 

He was too sure of the truth of what he had discovered 
to be daunted by even such tangible evidence against it 


310 


A mFB AHISTOCIiAT. 


as Howard^s visit to San Francisco, and he went on 1 
rapidly: 

This Daisy is not, for I have seen her — a little ^ 
golden-haired, blue-eyed fairy of between three and four ? 
years; and the nurse, Martha, also, who told me with ' 
her own lips that this was the same Mrs. Montgomery ^ 
who returned from Europe alone and in trouble some ; 
three years ago. There has been some stupid mistake — ' 
your sister must have been misinformed. Are you crazy, .. 
man, that you will not accept happiness when it is 
offered to you 

Howard began to look excited now. 

It would surely be strange if there were two women ♦ 
who bore the name* of. Mrs. Howard Montgomery, who 
had a child named Daisy with golden hair and heavenly ; 
eyes, and a nurse whom they called Martha. 

Still he was so sure from what he had been told — from 
having found one of Daisy’s shoes in the very room that ^ 
had been Dr. Mortimer’s — that Cecile had given herself 
to him, that the illusion could not be dispelled in a ‘ 
moment. 1 

It might be that her own health had given out under 
the weight of this second sorrow — from grief over his , 
death — and she had come to the Springs to recruit; and 
yet if such was the case it was very singular that she 
should have registered herself as ‘^Mrs. Montgomery.” 

But his heart had throbbed with wild exultation at ; 
George Anthony’s description of Daisy. Helen might ' 
have been mistaken about her death. 

He seized his friend eagerly by the hand. 

'‘It is all very strange,” he said, hoarsely, "and I 
must know what it means. If what you say is true — if 
my is still living — I shall be a new man! Life will : 
still hold something for me. At the Congress did you * 
say they were? Come!” j 

He threw his hat upon his head as he spoke and ■ 
strode from the room, betraying eagerness enough now 
to satisfy even his exacting friend. ,? 

Upon reaching the hotel. Dr. Anthony again sent up ^ 
his card to Cecile’s rooms, repeating his request for an ,1 


A TEUE ABISTOGRAT. 


311 


interview, while Howard, with pallid face and trembling 
limbs, sat down by a window, with his hack to the 
door. 

“ Mrs. Montgomery has not yet come in, sir,^’ the 
servant said, upon returning, after having delivered the 
card and message to Martha. 

Is her maid in?^^ George Anthony inquired. 

Yes, sir.-’" 

Send her here,'*" was the brief command; for he, too, 
was becoming greatly excited as matters approached a 
crisis. 

A few minutes later Martha entered, leading Daisy by 
the hand. 

At the sound of the opening door Howard turned 
abruptly around, an almost wild light in his dark eyes, 
and he started forward with a low cry as soon as his 
glance fell upon liis child. 

Martha recognized him instantly despite his haggard 
face a,nd emaciated form, and with a scream sank into 
the nearest chair. 

^^Mr. Montgomery!"" she said, in alow, scared voice, 
and with her eyes glued to his face. 

Yes, Martha,"" he returned, but too much overcome 
to rise from his chair, “ it is I; and is that my child?"" 

“Yes, sir, this is Miss Daisy;"" and, rising, she led 
the little one to him. 

“ Darling,"" she said, in a coaxing yet tearful voice, 
“this is papa."" 

The child looked up wonderingly into his face, study- 
ing it with her wide, grave eyes. 

Cecile had had a life-size picture of him copied from 
a fine photograph, and hung it in her pretty parlor, and 
as soon as Daisy could understand anything, she had 
taken her every day to this likeness and taught her to 
call it “papa."" 

Although he had grown very thin, and except for the 
look of pain in his eyes, the lines of suffering about his 
mouth, and the silver threads sprinkled among his 
dark hair, he had not changed so very much; and the 
child, drawn by some strange influence, perhaps by the 


312 


A THU-^ ABISTOCI^AT. 


force of the great love in his heart for her and the filial 
instinct in her own, nestled close to his side, laid her 
little hand upon his knee, and said, gravely, but ques- 
tioningly, as if she were wondering if that picture at 
home had not come to life: 

‘‘Papar 

Howard’s heart leaped to his bosom like a thing of 
life at the word, and he longed to clasp her to him in a 
close, passionate embrace. 

But he restrained himself; he did not wish to startle 
her. 

^‘ Tes, my darling,” he said, softly; ^^has mamma 
told you about papa?” 

Daisy nodded her golden head two or three times, her 
blue eyes still regarding him thoughtfully. 

He ventured to lift her lightly to his knee now, while 
he looked down upon her fair little face, his whole heart 
in his tender glance. 

Daisy smiled at him, then, putting up one small 
finger, she touched successively his eyelids, his nose, and 
lips, saying, reflectively: 

“ Papa’s eyes — papa’s nose — papa’s mouth.” 

'^How does she know?” Howard asked, turning with 
surprise to Martha. 

^^Oh, sir! Mrs. Montgomery had a large picture of 
you made, and every day she has taken Miss Daisy to 
it and told her about you,” the girl returned, brokenly, 
and wondering how her mistress would ever bear the 
glorious news of his return. 

Something of the tide of bitterness against Cecile 
swept back from his heart as he heard this. 

Whatever else she had done she had been faithful to 
his child, teaching her to know him, so that, now he had 
returned, he was not wholly a stranger to her. 

'^Will you kiss me, darling?” he whispered, bending 
his head until it touched her bright hair; he could not 
trust his voice aloud. 

She put up her lips willingly and kissed him. 

Daisy kiss papa every day at home. Mamma kiss 
him, too, and cry,” she said confidingly. 


A TMUE AEISTOCEAT, 


313 


Howard could bear no more and preserve his self-con- 
trol. He put his child quickly, though gently, down, 
while his face flushed a deep crimson. 

“ Why did Mrs. Montgomery go to California?'^ he 
demanded abruptly of Martha. 

She looked surprised at the quetion, but replied: 

Because Mrs. — because some one had stolen Miss 
Daisy, and taken her to San Francisco, and she went to 
And her." 

What!" exclaimed both gentlemen at once. 

Yes, sir; some one carried her off one day, and Mrs. 
Montgomery was nearly deranged for awhile. At last 
something led her to suspect where she was, and she 
went all alone to San Francisco to get her." 

Dr. Anthony and Howard exchanged glances of as- 
tonishment at this information. 

Who stole the child?" demanded Ho^vard, sternly. 

Martha colored, and looked down in distress. 

She shrank from telling him that it was his own 
sister. 

He repeated the question more severely than before. 

‘‘Oh, sir," she stammered, “perhaps — I think Mrs. 
Montgomery would prefer to tell vou about it her- 
self." 

Howard's face grew cold again at this, and his sus- 
picions were aroused once more. 

Perhaps, after all. Dr. Mortimer had been the chief 
attraction in San Francisco. 

“ If you know, I wish you to tell me at once," he said, 
authoritatively; and Martha was forced to reply: 

“It was — Mrs. Langley, sir. She wanted to adopt 
Miss Daisy; but her mother would not give her up; and 
so one day she found her sitting by herself in a store, 
where Mrs. Montgomery had gone to do some shopping, 
and took her away." 

“AVhew!" whistled George Anthony, who instantly 
began to see things in a different light from what he had 
done of late. 

Howard Montgomery's face grew black with wrath. 

Had Helen been playing a trick upon him, after all? 


314 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


Had she woven all this cunning story for the sole pur- 
pose of keeping him separated from his wife? 

It came to him all at once in one horrible flash. He 
remembered how bitter she had been against his mar- 
riage, how vindictively she had spoken of Cecile, telling 
him that he would be no brother of hers if he persisted 
in his folly, and never to bring his beggar bride into 
her presence.” 

He never would have believed she could be guilty of 
such heartless and dishonorable intrigue as this! And 
yet, as he looked back he began to see that there were 
many points in her story which appeared unreasonable 
in the extreme. 

Strange, bethought, that it had never occurred to him 
before; that he should have accepted everything that she 
had told him so blindly, and allowed himself to have 
been so duped. 

When did Mrs. Montgomery return from California?” 
Dr. Anthony asked, while Howard was busy with these 
thoughts. 

About three weeks ago, sir,” she answered. 

Howard’s face fell again at this. 

According to Martha’s statement, she must have re- 
mained there a long time. Perhaps, after all, Dr. Mor- 
timer would have won her if he had lived. 

So prone is the loving, exacting human heart to tor- 
ture itself. 

‘MVhy did she stay so long?” Dr. Anthony pursued, 
seeing the change in his friend’s countenance, and sur- 
mising something of its cause. 

‘^Because Miss Daisy was so very sick, sir. When 
Mrs. Montgomery flrst discovered her with Mrs. Langley, 
they thought she would die — she had diphtheria, and 
was constantly mourning for her mother; but a kind 
doctor — Mortimer — who was very kind to Mrs. Mont- 
gomery on the voyage from Liverpool, saved her, and 
they thought she would get well right away. But she 
took cold afterward, and was worse than before. One 
night they thought she was dying, and he saved her 
again. Just as soon as she was well enough to travel 


A THUB ABISTOCHAT. 


315 


he advised them both to come here for the water, for my 
mistress, sir, was nearly as badly off as the child, from 
her long watching and care/^ 

Howard could scarcely repress a groan at this. He 
began to realize how he had wronged his faithful wife. 

“But,^^ Martha continued, ‘^Dr. Mortimer has died 
since we came here. Mrs. Montgomery only received 
the news of his death yesterday, and she is feeling very 
sad, for he has been almost the only friend she has had 
during all her trouble. She says he has been like a 
brother to her.^'’ 

Where have you lived all this time, Martha?*^ How- 
ard asked. 

"^In West th Street, sir, she returned, with added 

color, and a curious glance at him, if she wondered what 
his next query would be. 

J/oia has she lived he questioned, excitedly. 

Martha’s eyes flashed. 

She bore Mrs. Langley no love, and she was not sorry 
for this opportunity of revealing something of her 
cruelty to his wife. 

“ By manufacturing fancy articles, sir.'’^ 

WliatV' he cried, aghast. 

Yes, sir. When we reached New York she had no 
money — not even enough to pay our passage, and was 
obliged to borrow of Dr. Mortimer. Then she went 
to Mrs. Langley for help, but she would not give it, and 
just the same as turned ns out into the street. But 
Mrs. Montgomery sold some laces that she had to pay 
the doctor and give her a start. Then a gentleman 
gave her the lace-work to do, and she has done nicely at 
it ever since. 

Howard Montgomery staggered to his feet at this 
point, his face nearly convulsed with mingled pain and 
anger. 

What a dolt he had been to believe Helen’s wretched 
falsehoods, or that the wife who had idolized him could 
be anything but faithful to him! 

Where is she now?” he asked, hoarsely. 

I believe she has gone to the Park. She loves to go 


316 


A TRUE ARISTOCBAT. 


there, it is so cool and quiet. Shall I go and find her 
for you, sir?^^ 

^'No. I will seek her myself. Come,^^ Howard 
added, turning to his friend, and they went together, 
the father forgetting for the moment that he had a 
child. in his anxiety to find his wife, to clasp her to his 
heart, and beg her forgiveness for his distrust and sus- 
picion of her by his blind belief in his sister^s cunningly- 
woven lies. 


A ABISTOCJiAT. 


317 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MRS. LAKGLEY'S defeat. 

W ITH a heart full of bitterness against his sister, 
and the author of so much of his misery, Howard 
hurried toward the Park at his quickest pace. 

She has played me false! She has done this to keep 
us apart, and to be revenged upon us for opposing her 
by marrying against her wishes; but she shall pay 
dearly for it!^^ were the savage thoughts of his heart as 
he strode rapidly over the ground. 

In vain Dr. Anthony tried to induce him to be calm, 
telling him of the danger of coming upon his wife too 
suddenly. 

“ The shock to her nerves will be more than she can 
bear, if you are not careful, he said. 

You hww that I cannot be calm. Could you, if 
you had wronged 5’'our wife, had you one, as I have 
wronged mine? What a fool I have been* to believe one 
word that Helen has told me! I might have Tcnoion^ if 
I had stopped to think, that one-half was not true. But 
only let me find her! — only let me look once more upon 
her, and be sure that I have not' been deceived a second 
time — then I will wait, and you shall go to her first and 
break the news to her;^^ and George Anthony was obliged 
to be content with this somewhat doubtful promise, while 
it was with difficulty that he could keep pace with How- 
ard's impatient steps. 

They wandered through the grounds for a long time 
before they espied those two black-robed figures which 
were half concealed by the thick growth of shrubbery 
which surrounded them. 

As they quietly drew near they recognized Mrs. Lang- 
ley, for her face was turned toward them, although she 


318 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


did not notice them, she was so excited by what she was 
saying to Cecile. She had only been there a few mo- 
ments herself when they came upon them. 

Howard mistrusted the nature of their conversation; 
and, impatient as he was to meet his wife, he made up 
his mind that he would listen a few moments, and learn 
for himself just what their attitude toward each other 
was. 

He made a sign to Dr. Anthony to keep quiet, and 
then crept still nearer, shielding his body from observa- 
tion by keeping behind the trunk of a tree, and thus 
they heard nearly everything that passed between Helen 
Langley and Howard’s fair young wife. 

No one will ever know the conflicting emotions which 
he experienced as he stood there and listened to his sis- 
ter’s scorn and abuse of his loved one, learned all her 
treachery and wickedness, and heard Oecile’s proud de- 
fence of her truth and purity^ her love and faithfulness 
toward him. 

He was surprised to hear of Helen’s interview with 
her before her marriage, and of her note and threat on 
the day of their sailing for Europe. But when she at- 
tacked his wife’s purity — when she mocked at her re- 
lations with Dr. Mortimer and at her poverty, calling 
her a beggar,” and found how she had kept from her, 
in her destitute and friendless condition, the income 
which rightfully belonged to her from his fortune, and 
realized how she had plotted since his return to ruin 
both their lives, he felt as if there was no retribution 
too dreadful to be hurled upon her. 

It seemed as if every atom of affection which he had 
ever entertained for her died out of his heart as he 
listened; and when Cecile had declared ‘^1 belong 
alone to Howard, for time and eternity; and when life is 
over, and I go to meet him in the other world, he will 
know that I am and always have been true to him!” he 
could control himself no longer, and, thoughtless of the 
consequences, he had rushed forward and clasped her in 
his arms, his whole soul stirred to its utmost depths by 
her fidelity and love. 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


319 


At first sight of him Mrs. Langley had sunk to the 
ground, overwhelmed with dismay, knowing but too 
well that all her schemes were brought to naught, her 
treachery discovered, and that ruin stared her in the 
face. 

She saw, too, that Howard was accompanied by Dr. 
Anthony, and he also must have heard all that had 
passed between her and Cecile; consequently all her 
prospects of winning him and his handsome fortune 
were destroyed. 

She could not understand what had brought Howard 
to Saratoga again just at this time, or what combination 
of evil circumstances should have led them to that spot 
at such an unfortunate moment. 

She sat there upon the soft green grass, her head 
bowed with confusion, her heart in a perfect tumult of 
rage and disappointment over the failure of her plans, 
and listened to the fond, eager words which Howard 
poured into the ear of his recovered wife; and it can be 
imagined that a more wretched w’oman did not exist 
upon the face of the earth at that moment than Helen 
Langley, the heartless and arrogant but defeated foe of 
Cecile Montgomery. 

George Anthony had been greatly surprised upon rec- 
ognizing in the wife of his friend the lovely woman 
whom he had assisted only a few days previous. 

He knew now why her face had struck him as being 
familiar; but he stole quietly away from the sacred 
scene, his own heart too full of emotion to admit of 
his retaining anything like composure. 

As he went he cast one contemptuous glance upon the 
crouching figure of Helen Langley. 

‘‘That dream is over,” he muttered, “and well for 
me that I was awakened thus early. How strange that 
one so fair, so fascinating and intelligent, so well calcu- 
lated to shin« in any sphere, should be so false at heart! 
What a perfect savage she was to Howard's lovely wife, 
who, by the way, is not lacking in spirit, either.” 

Cecile, lying in her husband ^s arms, clasped close to 
his throbbing heart, looked up into his eyes, which. 


r 


320 A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

even in this supreme moment, still retained something 
of the sadness which had been crowded into the past 
three years, anxiously reading his face, which, despite 
the tenderness trembling there just now, was worn with 
suffering and lines of pain, that had been there too long 
to disappear in a moment, and noting those silvery 
threads so thickly sprinkled among his dark locks, and 
she knew that it was the work of soijiething ■more than 
the mere lapse of time. 

She gently raised herself to a sitting posture, a wistful 
light coming into her eyes, and folding her arms about 
his neck, she said, tremulously: 

Howard, something dreadful has happened to you — 
your face looks as my heart has felt during these long, 
cruel years, during which we have been separated; some 
fearful calamity befell- you on that fatal day — tell me 
what it was?^-’ 

‘^JSTot now, my darling; the past seems but like some 
horrible nightmare now that I have you all my own once 
more, and I do not w'ant to talk of it just yet,"’"’ he 
answered; and she never knew how much of meaning 
was concentrated in those words all my own.'^ 

To find that she had been so true to him after all that 
he had been led to believe of her — to be assured that her 
love had never strayed from him — that she was his alone 
through time and eternity, was almost more of happi- 
ness than he could calmly bear. 

'^Are you able to walk, Cecile?’'’ he asked, a little 
later, while he gently lifted her to her feet, although he 
still supported her with his arm. want to go back 
to the hotel and to Daisy, and have both of my recovered 
treasures all to myself for the present.’^ 

Yes, I can walk,'’^ she answered; and then her face 
grew luminous as she went on: 

^^And, oh, Howard! do you know that I think Daisy 
will recognize you? I have a large picture of you at 
home, and I have taught her to love it and to know 
that it is a likeness of her papa.^^ 

I know,^^ he returned, vvith trembling lips. Martha 
told me, and I have already seen Daisy. I believe she 


A AHISTOOJ? AT. 


3-21 


did know me, only I think she was puzzled to know 
whether the picture had not come to life or whether I 
was not some apparation resembling it/^ 

And then he told her how George Anthony had dis- 
covered that she was there in Saratoga, had telegraphed 
to him, met him at the station, and together they had 
g©ne to the Congress House to find her, but instead had 
seen Martha, and she had related to them something of 
the past, and, telling them where she had gone, they 
had come to seek her. 

‘^1 cannot realize it, my beloved, he added, as he 
brushed the golden mist from her forehead and looked 
earnestly into her fond eyes. 

Can you not?^^ she asked softly; then added, almost 
solemnly: 

To me it seems like that calm — that wondrous sun- 
set, after that day of storm and fear upon the Adriatic. 

He caught her to him with something that sounded 
like a sob. 

It has indeed been a storm of trouble which has 
nearly wrecked us; how have we ever borne it?^^ he said. 

^^Let us trust that the ^future will brigliten as it 
draws near.^ Oh, my husband, God knows that in the 
joy of this moment- it almost seems that I can forget the 
dreadful past.^"" • 

^^Let me go to Daisy, now,^’ he urged gently. 

He had found his wife; she was the same pure, beau- 
tiful woman whom' he had always loved, and now his 
heart began to yearn for his child. 

He left her for one moment, however, before they 
turned to go, and went and stood, white and stern, by 
his sister's side. 

Her strength seemed all to have left her, and she had 
no power to move from that spot where she had fallen 
upon beholding her brother. 

“ Helen, I will see you some time during the evening," 
he said, briefiy and coldly, and turned instantly away. 

Then going back to his wdfe, he drew her hand within 
his arm, and they slowly wended their way back to the 
Congress House. 


322 • 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


The remainder of the day was spent in rehearsing the 
strange events of the past three years to each other. 

Cecile told her story simply and truthfully, without 
either reservation or embellishment. 

She considered that it would be no more than just to 
herself that her husband should know all that she had 
suffered through Mrs. Langley. 

He had heard enough to give him something of an 
idea of it, and she went over every event, keeping noth- 
ing from him. 

He said but little, but his stern face and flashing eyes, 
as he listened to the wrong she had ^d one his wife and 
child, did not promise well for his verdict upon the case. 

Cecile told all the story of Dr. Mortimer's kindness, 
from the hour of their meeting upon the Britannia; of 
his promise to befriend her if she ever needed his aid 
again; of her ap|)eal to him, in response to this offer, 
when she lost Daisy. She dwelt upon his devotion, his 
untiring watchfulness during her illness, and the deli- 
cate but successful operation which he had performed 
upon her, as a last resort. 

And then, with flushing cheeks, but with her pure 
eyes never wavering beneath her husband’s earnest gaze, 
she told him of this good man’s love for her, and her 
rejection of his suit. 

‘‘ It would have been wrong in me to listen favorably 
to any one without positive proof that you were not liv- 
ing,” she said; then added, as she twined her arms 
about his neck and laid her flushed face against his: 

But, Howard, if I had known it, it would have made 
no difference. Day and night I was continually thinking 
and dreaming of 5^11; my heart was full of love for you, 
to the exclusion of every other affection, except that 
which I had for Daisy. Every hour my soul longed for 
you, reaching out after you with a craving which would 
not be satisfied by anything save your return to me, or 
my being called to you. When I gave myself to you, 
my husband, it was no half-way gift.” 

And Howard Montgomery, looking into his wife’s 
radiant face, was almost awed by the knowledge of her 


A AmsTociiAr. 


323 


devotion to him, and could not find courage to tell her 
how cruelly he had been led to doubt her, and to be- 
lieve that she had forgotten him and given herself to 
another. 

do not believe, Cecile, that the world contains 
another woman like you,^' he said, in grave, moved 
tones,^^ ^^and I shall reverence Dr. Mortimer's memory 
as long as I live; he was one among a thousand." 

‘"Yes," Cecile returned, tears springing to her lovely 
eyes, “and I mourn over his untimely death as I would 
for a dear brother; his was, indeed, a grand and noble 
character. " 

Then she showed him that letter which he had written 
her when he knew he must die, also the lawyer's, relating 
to his legacy to Daisy; and every doubt, every fear, every 
jealous feeling that he had ever entertained in his heart 
was given to the winds, and he experienced only grati- 
tude and admiration for the man to whom he owed so 
much. 

It was evening before everything had been explained 
and considered in all its bearings, and then Howard, re- 
membering his promise to his sister, kissed his dear 
ones, and with a paean of praise in his heart for the 
blessedness which that day had given him he left them 
for the painful task of calling his sister to an account 
for the wretched part which she had pla3'ed in the al- 
most tragic events of his own and Cecile's past. 


324 


A TUtiE ARISTOCBAT. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE BALL. 

T he day on which Howard Montgomery and his 
wife were reunited was not a pleasant one for 
Helen Langley. 

She had soon followed them from the Park, and shut 
herself in her own rooms, where she nursed her wretch- 
edness and anger in solitude. 

When Howard arrived in the evening she received 
him in sullen silence, and with something of defiance in 
her manner. 

It w^as not in her nature to humble herself under any 
circumstances, and having wronged her brother, and 
hated his wife for so many years, she was not prepared in 
this first hour of her humiliating defeat to entertain 
much of anything but bitterness toward them. 

It is always so where one has deeply wu’onged another, 
unless true sorrow^ and repentance soften the heart; a 
feeling of malice is cherished — a desire to do even a 
deeper injury, although that one may have been the 
faithful friend and benefactor of a life-time. 

There is but very little that I can say to j'OU, 
Helen,’"’ Howard said, in stern, constrained tones. I 
do not need to tell you that I know all of what you have 
been guilty, and it will he a long time before — if, in- 
deed, I ever can feel kindly toward you again. You have 
abused my wife in the most cruel and contemptible 
manner, you have grossly misled and deceived me — have 
wickedly plotted to ruin my happiness to gratify a mean 
spirit of revenge. Had we not been reared together as 
brother and sister, I should almost be tempted to doubt 
that a drop of Montgomery blood flows in your veins — 


A mUE ARISTOCRAT. 


325 


as it is, it must have been poisoned before the hour of 
your birth, for none of our noble race was ever guilty 
of such baseness before/^ 

‘^Howard, you are a sentimental foolP she inter- 
rupted, passionately, her face crimson with anger at his 
words. 

That will do,^’ he returned, coldly. “ I did not come 
here to enter into any discussion upon the past, or to lis- 
ten to any abuse from you. I simply came to tell you 
that henceforth — or at least .until you betray a proper 
spirit of sorrow for what you have done — I do not desire 
to have any communication with you, more than is ab- 
solutely necessary. Furthermore, I can no longer extend 
to you the indulgence which I have granted since your 
husband’s death and the discovery of your unfortunate 
losses. I will provide for you that you will not suffer — 
forgetting, as far as may be, your dastardly refusal to as- 
sist Cecil e, when she came' to you in such a strait after 
her return from Europe. I will settle upon you for life 
the annuity of one thousand dollars, which will give you 
every reasonable comfort. There will be a little — a very 
little, a few hundred, perhaps, coming to you after the 
coloneTs affairs are all settled, and by practicing economy 
you will get along very well.” 

Mrs. Langley regarded her brother in angry conster- 
nation. 

‘‘Howard Montgomery, you do not suppose I am go- 
ing to live upon a thousand dollars a year!” she cried, 
growing white with rage at the suggestion. 

“ I think you will be obliged to,” he replied, quietly, 
“unless you do as Oecile did — invest it in some lucrative 
business which will yield you more.” 

The wretched woman was so mortified and nearly be- 
side herself at this, that she could only sit speechless 
and stare at him. 

“It is more than you deserve,” Howard continued; 
“ and while I know that you will not suffer — that the 
sum I allow you will serve to give you a comfortable liv- 
ing, I do not feel either willing or under any obligations 
to gratify any of yoiir luxurious whims.” 




A TRUE A RISrOCRA T. 


^‘But you promised me that I should want for noth- 
ing/' she began, in a shaking voice. 

‘A know that I did/^ he interrupted; ‘^but I sup- 
posed, when I told you so, that I was pledging myself to 
a true and loving sister, instead of a fiend in woman’s 
form, who was even then seeking the destruction of those 
who were dear to me, and aiming a mortal blow at the 
very foundation of all my happiness. It will be well for 
you to leave Saratoga immediately. I will settle all your 
bills here, and you can use the check v/hich I sent you 
day before yesterday to furnish yourself some rooms 
wherever you see fit to reside in the future.” 

Are you not ashamed of yourself, to offer me, out of 
all your affluence, such a beggarly mite!” Helen cried 
out in a perfect paroxysm of anger. 

Howard colored violently. 

She had touched him in a very tender spot. 

The word beggar or beggarly seems to be a favorite 
expression of yours, Helen; you have not only called 
my wife a beggar many times, but 5^11 have done all that 
you could to mahe her one. I do not forget that in the 
midst of your affluence you drove her from your door 
almost penniless, when she did not know where else to go 
for shelter. When she asked you to lend her money 
to cancel her indebtedness to a stranger, you heart- 
lessly replied, ‘ I will not loan you a dollar.’ I tell you 
again, that I am almost led to doubt your kinship to me, 
for I could not have turned so coldly against the en- 
treaties of my worst enemy had he applied to me in such 
distress.” 

I could not forgive her for defying me and marry- 
ing you. The Montgomerys belonged to the aristocracy 
of Kentucky; they have noble blood in their veins, and 
have never before married out of their sphere,” Mrs. 
Langley said, sullenly. 

Howard’s lips curled. 

Your ideas of aristocracy are very discriminating, 
Helen, and you have yet to learn the true meaning of 
the word,” he said,, scornfully. While I am glad to 
know that I belong to a noble race, a proud old family 


A TEUB ARISTOCBAT. 


327 


of wealth and high position, I would not wish to forget, 
for one moment, what it was that made them noble, and 
worthy of the high place which they occupied. They 
were ever generous and high-minded, disdaining every- 
thing that was cowardly or mean, cultivating kindliness 
and charity toward every one. Cecile, in the midst 
of her poverty, while toiling for her daily bread, was an 
aristocrat in a truer sense of the word than you, with 
thousands at your command, and surrounded by ad- 
mirers and flatterers in so-called high life. I am prouder 
of my wife to-day, after the noble conquest which she 
has won over misfortune and your malice, than I should 
be to have wedded a princess of royal blood.” 

‘'And yet, in your boasted ‘ nobility," and ‘kindli- 
ness," and ^‘charity," you will drive your only sister into 
poverty and obscurity,” Mrs. Langley sneered. 

“You will do well not to try me too far, Helen, for 
doubtless you are aware that I possess a spirit equal to 
your own when once it is aroused,"^ Howard returned, 
an ominous flash in his dark eyes. 

“What I have offered you,” he continued, “is all 
that my conscience will allow me to do, after the dis- 
covery of your treachery and wickedness; you will take 
it or ‘you will get nothing. I will make it payable 
quarterly or monthl}^ whichever you may prefer; 3^011 
can communicate with me by letter when you decide, as 
in your present state of feeling I have no desire for 
another interview with you at present.” 

He arose and left her without giving her an oppor- 
tunity to reply, and returned to the more congenial at- 
mosphere awaiting him at the Congress House, while 
the elegant and arrogant Mrs. Langley began to realize, 
in bitterness of spirit, that it was possible for even a 
“Montgomery” to become “a beggar!” 

The afternoon of the following day she left in the most 
unceremonious manner for New York. 

The next evening but one there was to be a brilliant 
ball at the Congress House, and Howard insisted that 
Cecile should attend. 

“ You have secluded yourself for so long — for three 


328 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


years you have hidden yourself, and I cannot consent to 
allow such a light to be concealed under a bushel/’ he 
said, smiling. 

I can only bring light into your heart and home, 
Howard, I care comparatively little for the rest of the 
world, Cecile answered, dropping her golden head upon 
his breast. 

^‘'But I naturally feel a little pride in my wife,^^ he 
answered. Remember I have never yet had an oppor- 
tunity to introduce her to my friends in this country; 
and besides, the people here are crazy to see the heroine 
of our wonclerful romance — the story has flown like wild- 
fire, I hear.'’^ 

Oecile looked up at him in dismay. 

do not like to be conspicuous,^^ she said, ^^and, 
more than that, I have nothing suitable here to wear in 
a brilliant company.'’^ 

And she glanced down at her black dress. 

I should say not, if you wear such somber colors as 
this, all the time,^'’ he returned. 

I could wear nothing gay when my heart was so sad 
all the time/'’ the fair wife murmured, with quivering 
lips. 

Howard stooped and kissed her tenderly. 

He wondered more and more at himself for having 
doubted her faithfulness for one moment. 

^AYell, the matter of a suitable toilet is easily ar- 
ranged, I think,^'’ he rem^arked. ^^Get on your hat and 
we will see what the fashionable shops here contain.'’'’ 

^^Must we go?’^ she asked, half pleadingly. 

Of course we must; we shall be taken by storm here 
in our rooms if we don’t show ourselves,” he said, laugh- 
ing. Come, I want the pleasure of buying something 
pretty for you; I have not forgotten our shopping ex- 
cursions abroad, nor how dainty you were in all your 
selections.” 

The next evening, when Cecile entered the ballroom 
leaning on the arm of her noble-looking husband, it was 
hardly possible to recognize in that elegantly clad, regal- 
looking figure the pale, quiet woman who for so long 


A TMUEi ARISTOCRAT. 329 

had lived in obscurity, and struggled so bravely with her 
sorrow for the sake of her child. 

She wore a trailing robe of delicate blue satin, beauti- 
fully adorned with a profusion of rich lace, and looped 
with pale-pink crush-roses that sparkled with dew- 
drops. 

Her golden hair ’was w'ound like a crown around her 
head, while a' magniticent star of diamonds gleamed 
among its smooth, shining bands. 

A beautiful cross of the same costly stones was sus- 
pended by a delicate chain from her neck, and these 
constituted her only ornaments. 

Howard would have lavished more upon her, but she 
protested against it. 

‘‘1 have so many and such elegant things already, 
that I do not need or wish any more,^^ she said. 

‘^But where are they?^'’ her husband asked. 

^^They are stored away in a safety vault in New 
York — I was keeping them for Daisy; but now,^^ she 
added, a brilliant smile wreathing her lips, I shall be 
glad to wear them again for your sake.^'’ 

But Cecile did not need costly gems or ornaments of 
any kind to enhance her beauty. 

The light of renewed hope, and joy, and love shone 
through every feature, making her transcendingly lovely. 

‘‘You are a hundred-fold more beautiful, my beloved, 
than you were in the days of your girlhood, when I 
wooed and won you,'’^ Howard had said, as he wound his 
arms about her when she came from her dressing-room 
in all the glory of her rich attire. 

“ I am a hundred — yea, a tliousand-io\di more happy 
than I ever thought to be again. Grod is very good/^ 
Cecile murmured, tearfully. 

They were the cynosure of all eyes that evening, and 
w'ere pointed out as “ that distinguished-looking couple 
to strangers, who were anxious to see the hero and 
heroine of the thrilling story which had so suddenly be- 
come the theme of conversation among the fashionable 
sojourners at Saratoga. 




330 


A TMtrjs; AmsrocjiAr. 


CHAPTEE XLI. ' 

.THETIMEHADCOME. 

H ELEX LANGLEY, wretched and humiliated, her 
proud, fiery spirit in hot rebellion against the 
ruin which had so summarily put an end to her brilliant 
career, hastened back to New York and took rooms in a 
quiet hotel on a retired street, hoping there to bury her- 
self from the sight of every one until she could steady 
her shattered nerves somewhat, and decide upon some 
plan for future action. 

But her punishment was not yet complete, as she was 
soon to discover. 

One day, closely vailed, she went out for a short walk 
— for solitude and the companionship of her own 
thoughts were not so enjoyable as she had expected to 
find them — and just as she reached the private entrance 
to her hotel upon her return, she was suddenly con- 
fronted by the stately form of Selma, the octoroon, who 
twice before had intruded herself upon her so strangely. 

After her last interview with her on the day of Cecile’s 
return from Europe, when she had given her five dollars 
and been so disturbed by her visit, she had sent her 
work quite a number of times, and, finding that it was 
well done, she had recommended her as a seamstress to 
others, but she had never seen anything more of her 
until this moment. 

There was something almost startling in the woman’s 
appearance to-day, and Helen suddenly recalled the vivid 
impressions which she had experienced wdien she last saw 
her. 

^MVhat is it that haunts me thus?” she had said 
wildly. Why does my flesh shiver and creep and my 


A TMUE ABISTOCEAT. 


331 


heart quake before such a creature as that? I cannot 
understand it/'’ 

The time had come now^ however, for her to under- 
stand it, and to her sorrow. 

Selma’s tall form was drawn to its fullest height; her 
remarkable face was stern and resolute in expression, 
and her midnight eyes glittered and burned as if from 
some deep inward emotion. 

Helen started violently on beholding her, and a nerv- 
ous thrill went shooting throughout her body. 

She would have passed her without noticing her, but 
the woman, with a little closer setting of her lips, placed 
herself directly in her path. 

^‘AVell, what do you want now?” Mrs. Langley de- 
manded, impatiently, and angered by her act. 

‘‘Work.” 

“I have given you work — all that I have to give,” 
Helen said, bitterly, remembering how regardless she 
used to be of expense, and how powerless she was now 
to indulge in her extravagant caprices. 

“ I must have more — I need money.” 

Helen laughed,- mockingly. 

“Money! All the world is struggling for money, I 
believe; but I never thought much about it before,” she 
said. 

“ You have lost yours,” Selma asserted, with a keen 
glance into the brilliant, passionate face before her. 

“How do you know? What is it to 3^11 if I have?” 
Mrs. Langley demanded, sharply. 

“Hush, honey! dont’t speak so loud — people might 
hear you,” the octoroon replied, shooting a quick glance 
around; “but I know a good deal about you — indeed 
there is not much of your history that I do not know; 
and whatever concerns you is of considerable importance 
to me also.” 

“ What do you mean? How dare you accost and 
speak to me thus?” Helen cried, vehemently, all her 
brilliant color fading from her face and leaving her al- 
most ghastly, while those old familiar shivers began to 
chase each other up and down her spine. 


332 


A TBUJ^ ABISTOGBAT, 


‘^Let me come to your room, honey — I have some- 
thing to say to you/Hhe strange creature said, in a tone 
that was half a plea, half a command. 

‘‘AVhat do you mean repeated her companion; ^^you 
are very forward. Who are you, anyway? Why do you 
haunt me?*^ 

My name is Selma 

Yes, I know; but Selma who?'’'’ 

Selma Montgomery. I was once a slave belonging 
to one of the Montgomerys of Kentucky. 

Helen Langley gasped, and caught at the railing of 
the steps near which she was standing for support. 

She lobked at the tall stately creature before her for a 
moment in speechless astonishment. 

Come,” she then said, briefly, and turning, led the 
way into the hotel. 

Selma followed her in silence, her great dark eyes 
fixed upon her with a mournful expression. 

Upon reaching her room Helen locked the door, mo- 
tioned her visitor to a chair, and then sank, pale and 
with a sense of impending evil, into another. 

Do you mean to tell me that you once belonged to 
some of my relatives in Kentucky?’^ she asked as soon as 
she could command herself sufficiently to speak. 

^^1 was once the slave of Fitzroy Charles Somerset 

Montgomery, of County, Kentucky, Selma replied 

with startling distinctness. 

‘^My father!"’ Helen exclaimed. '"Selma — Selma! I 
never heard the name before. I never heard any one at 
home speak of you; and yet something about you has 
always affected me strangely.'’" 

The woman smiled grimly, but made no reply. 

" AVhy did you not bell me this before?"" Mrs. Langley 
demanded suspiciously. 

" Because,"" Selma returned, straightening herself, her 
dark eyes flashing, ‘"I was too proud."" 

"Too proud to ask aid of your master"s daughter! 
You do not know the Montgomerys if you think they 
would be guilty of the meanness of refusing to help one 
of their old servants in a time of trouble,"" Mrs. Langley 
returned patronizingly. 


A TRUE ABISTOCMAT. 


333 


Again the woman smiled grimly, while a hot flush 
went surging up to the dusky looks beneath the shabby 

bonnet. ^ 

‘‘Tell me about yourself/^ Helen commanded, alter 
studying her face for a moment. ^^You must have 
come North long before the war, or I should have re- 
membered you.^"’ 

Selma signed deeply; then, with a resolute expression 
hardening about her mouth, she said: 

“ Yes, 1 came North many years ago— long belore you 
would be likely to remember me. My master gave me 
my freedom, and most of the time since I have lived m 
New York and supported myself comfortabl}^ But i 
never lost sight of the old friends down in my Kentucky 
Pome”— it is impossible to describe the pathos of her 
voice as she said this— for my heart was there; but ^ 
when you married and came here to live, and young 
Master Howard also, I was more content. 

“Did you know me — were you here then, ileien 

asked, surprised. ^-p 

everything that has happened to either ot 

you ” the strange creature answered, almost passionately. 

“While I was able to take care of myself I could not 
come to you; but there came a time when 1 had a long 
illuess-when all my hard earnings melted avvay like dew 
in the sun, and poverty and want came stalking in. 1 
had not a penny when I came to you for work so long 
ago, and you gave me five dollars.” 

^“ Ifyoiihad only told me that you were an old ser- 
vant, I could have seen that your were well oared tor, 
Helen again said. 

Selma's eyes flashed once more; the words excited 

I could not— I had promised — I— but never mind,'_ 
she began, confusedly. -You gave me work, and 1 
was content— I could not heg of you. But sickness 
came again, and left me destitute a second time. You 
were avvav, and my only hope was to tell you aoout the 
past and\ask you to get more work for me, or help me 
to get into some place where I need not starve. I earned 


334 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


enough to take me to Saratoga. I heard you were in 
trouble — that all your money Avas gone, and I thought 
perhaps you might be willing that — that I should come 
and live Avith you and help take care of you.^^ 

But how do 5^ou know all this? Who told you that 
I Avas in trouble? How do you know that I need to be 
taken care of?’^ Helen questioned, hotly, her proud spirit 
rebelling against all this familiarity in one so far beneath 
her, yet not exactly knoAving how to resent it under the 
circumstances. 

I was in the Park at Saratoga Avhen young Master 
Montgomery found his wife. 1 heard all -I knew that 
you Avere dependent upon him; and when I saw you 
leave for Hew York the next day, I knew that he had 
cast you otf.'’^ 

What business have you to follow me about like 
this? What right have you to pry into my atfairs? I 
Avill not have it!^^ passionately exclaimed Mrs. Langley, 
Avith an angry stamp of her foot. 

Selma^s chest rose and fell spasmodically. Her face 
had groAvn pallid during this hot-tempered speech, and 
her lips trembled, Avhile tears stood in her eyes. 

Because honey, she answered, humbly, ^Mt was 
kind o'* natural like that I should cling to the old 
family.'’^ 

Again Helen eyed her suspiciously. Being so false- 
hearted herself, she had but precious little faith in the 
affection of others. 

I don^t believe it — I don’t believe you cling to us 
at all; there must be some other reason — some object 
you Avish to gain. You have kept yourself out of sight 
all these years, and now, at this late day, you doubtless 
have some cunning purpose at heart that has caused 
you to reveal yourself to me,’"’ she said, a skeptical 
tone. 

“ I — I thought it Avould be hard, honey, for you to 
be left alone uoav. ^Pears like as if youM like to have 
somebody about you, who — Avho loved you.'’^ 

As the Avoman said this, Avith boAved head, and hands 
plasped tightly across her heaving breast, Helen Lang- 




A mVE ARISTOCRAT. 


335 


ley^s ears cauglit the sound of rattling paper beneath her 
dress. 

AVho loved me?"' she repeated, scornfully. There 
is no one on the face of the earth who loves me!” and 
her face was set and hard, almost repulsive, as she said 
it. 

''Yes, yes, honey, /love ^ovi\—donH say that to me! 
Selma answered, quickly, but with a muffled sob. 

Helen gave her a puzzled look. 

The poor creature's emotion appeared to be genuine, 
and if she was really what she represented herself to be, 
an old servant belonging to the Montgomery family, there 
might, after all, be a good deal of aftection in her heart 

for the race. t i. 

"Why should you love me?" she asked^ "i^^must 
have been but a mere baby when you came North." 

'* Yes, a little baby— a wee, black-eyed, lovely little 
girl, only a year old," Selma breathed, tenderly. 

"Were you my nurse?" Helen questioned, thinking 
perhaps that might account for her strange attachment. 

"Yes, honey; you slept in my arms, you rested on 
this bosom day and night for a whole year. Selma was 
never away from you a single hour; and I loved you. 

Miss Helen, as if — as if " . ^ i 

A stifled sob finished the impassioned sentence, and 
again her wondering listener heard the sound of crump- 
ling paper beneath those tightly clasped hands. 

" Why did you leave me, then, if you loved me so. i 
should have supposed that freedom would have been no 
temptation," she answered, a bitter smile on her lips, a 
mocking cadence in her sharp tones. 

Selma drew herself up proudly at the tone and strove 
to regain her composure, while her face again flushed 

^^^H^iaster offered me my freedom, and— and one could 
hardly refuse a — a gift like that," she returned, some- 
what “ brokenly, but with such evident confusion that 
Helen felt her suspicions, which had been allayed during 
the last few moments, revive again. 

" My father offered you your freedom? 


330 


A mm ARISTOCRAT. 


'^Yes, honey/^ 

Then you did not run awayf* 

"^No, Miss Helen/^ and she shuddered, as if the 
thought gave her infinite pain. 

“ That is strange! I do not understand it. Masters 
were not in the habit of freeing their slaves in that way, 
and — and you must have been quite a valuable servant,^'’ 
Helen returned, with another keen glance at the still 
handsome face and stately form of her companion. 

I was — was a — a — favorite, honey,'’ Selma stam- 
mered. 

“'All the .more reason why they should wish to keep 
you," Helen answered; then asked: 

“ Did my father give you free papers?" 

The woman gave a queer look, which puzzled Mrs. 
Langley still more; but she answered: 

“Yes, honey." 

“ Where are they?" 

I have them here," she said; taking a folded paper 
from her bosom; and Helen knew now what had caused 
that rattling sound in her bosom. 

“I was afraid you would not believe me, honey," 
Selma went on, s-peaking rapidly, “ and I do so want to 
come and live with you. You will have to give up your 
fine servants now that you are poor; but old Selma will 
come arid serve you faithfully, if you will let her, and 
ask for nothing but the crust she eats. I knew the 
free papers that master gave me would prove to you that 
what I say is true, and so I brought them to show you. 
Ah! honey, it would do my old heart good — it would 
make it young once more — to serve a Montgomery 
again. I can read and write, I can sew — I could make 
all your dresses, honey, and that would save you a power 
of money — I can wash, iron, and cook. There is nothing 
I would not do for you” 

Helen regarded her with astonishment. 

Her old face was lighted up into positive beauty in her 
earnestness. A bright flush had settled upon either 
cheek, her eyes glowed witli an eager light, and a tender 
smile hovered about her lips. 


A mUS ARISTOCRAT. 


337 


Surely, she thought, there must he something of real 
affection left in the world if, after so many yeaiV sepa- 
ration, a servant could cling to her master’s family like 
this. 

Let me see the paper,” she said more gently than 
she had yet .spoken, but ignoring entirely the earnest 
pleading of the woman. 

Selma approached and laid the folded document on her 
lap; but the light had faded from her eyes, the smile 
had frozen on her lips at being treated so coldly. 

Mrs. Langley unfolded it and began to read. 

At first a look of astonishment came over her face; 
then, as she read on, she seemed suddenly turned to 
stone, and grew so white that, but for her staring eyes, 
her dilating nostrils, and convulsed face, one would have 
believed her to be dead — petrified where she sat. 

But all at once the paper dropped from her nerveless 
fingers, and there rang through the room a shriek as of 
one in mortal agony. 

The next momen.t she lay stretched upon the floor in 
a deadly swoon. 





338 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


CHAPTEE XLIL 


CHILD OF A SLAVE. 


S MRS. LANGLEY fell to the floor, Selma, with 



an answering cry of terror, sprang to her side 


and raised her in her strong arms. 

The stern control which she had exercised through- 
out the interview over herself seemed to give way en- 
tirely, now that Helen had become unconscious. 

She clasped her close to her breast; she bent down and 
wildly kissed the still, white face again and again, call- 
ing her fond and tender names, and rocking to and fro, 
as if she had suddenly been converted again into the in- 
fant which she used to cradle upon dier bosom so long 
ago. 

But at length she began to realize the necessity of 
doing something for her relief, and laying her gently 
down upon the floor once more she went into the cham- 
ber adjoining and brought out a bowl of water, with 
which she began to sprinkle her face vigorously. 

It was some time before Helen began to show signs of 
reviving, notwithstanding that Selma did everthing pos- 
sible for her. 

But at last her dark eyes unclosed, and with a deep- 
drawn sigh she looked wildly around the room. 

When her glance fell upon the woman kneeling by 
her side, she realized with a violent start all that had 
transpired. 

She sat up, the wild look returning to her eyes, and 
pushing Selma from her with what little strength she 
had she began moaning and wringing her hands in the 
most piteous manner. 

At first the octoroon regarded her anxiously, and 
seemed at a loss to account for her excessive agitation. 


A TRUE ARISTOCBAT. 


339 


Then her eye fell upon the paper which she had given 
Helen, and, with a frightened look suddenly leaping to 
her eyes, she bent forward and picked it up. 

Taking her glasses from the top of her head, she ad- 
justed them to her eyes to examine it. 

One glance appeared to be sufficient, for she almost 
instantly cast it from her with a cry almost as terrified 
as the one Helen had uttered, and dropped again upon, 
her knees beside her in deepest distress. 

^^Oh! forgive me — honey, forgive me!^^ she cried, 
tremblingly. “I have brought you the lorong paper ! I 
never meant that any one should ever know that I had 
it. Oh! why was I so foolish as to keep it? — why did I 
not destroy it, and save the misery of this moment? I 
would a hundred times rather have died alone in poverty 
and distress than to have brought this added sorrow 
upon you I Honey, forgive me — say that you forgive old 
Selma, who is a thousand times more wretched than 
yourself at this moment and bending her proud head 
to the fioor, she moaned as if she were indeed in mortal 
distress. 

Again Helen put out her hand to push her away. 

^^Gooutof my sight — I hate you! I hate your she 
cried, with colorless lips and a shudder of repulsion. 

Without a word the wretched creature got up from 
her humble position and crept away into a corner, where 
she sat with her arms clasped around and her head 
bowed upon her knees; while long-drawn sighs burst now 
and then from her overcharged heart. 

N'early half an hour elapsed, and there was no other 
sound in the room. 

Mrs. Langley sat in the middle of the floor like a 
statue, apparently stunned and regardless of everything. 

■ At last she dragged herself to a chair, picking up as 
she went the paper which Selma had dropped again after 
reading. 

For a long time she sat holding it in her hand, while 
shudder after shudder shook her graceful- form; then, as , 
if she had been summoning all her courage for the task, 
she began to read it again. 


340 


A TRXTE ARI8TOCEAT. 


Looking over her shoulder, we also will see what it 
contains: 

I, Fitzroy Charles Somerset Montgomery, upon re- 
ceiving the written promise of Kichard Sussex, niy half- 
brother, that he will leave the country and never return 
to remind me of what has this day transpired between us, 
do hereby pledge my word that I will adopt and rear as 
my own his child and that of my servant Selma. . She 
shall be called Helen Montgomery, and it shall never be 
known through any act of mine that she is not my own 
offspring. She shall share equally with my own children 
— should I ever have them — in what I possess, and be- 
come my heiress in case I should die childless. Signed, 
^‘Fitzkoy Charles Somerset Montgomery.” 

[Copy.] 

It is no wonder that the proud heart of the brilliant 
woman of the world should be crushed after reading this 
wonderful document. 

It was not strange that the sun seemed suddenly to 
have been blotted out of the heavens, and every bright 
and beautiful thing in life to have been withered and 
blighted by this lightning-stroke. 

It was the very gall of bitterness to this fiery-hearted 
Southerner, who hitherto had believed herself to belong to 
the very creme de la creme of society, to discover that she 
had simply been lifted out of the depths” by a freak of 
fortune — that she was in reality only the child of a slave 
■ — that the tainted blood of the South, and not one drop 
of that of the noble race of Montgomery, upon which 
she had so prided herself all her life, fiowed in her veins. 

Where now was her boasted superiority over Cecile? 

There was indeed no kinship between her and How- 
ard, the noble and high-minded man, whom she always 
believed to be her brother, and who was the only rep- 
resentative of her race. 

She who had grown up fondly dreaming herself to 
be an aristocrat of unimpeachable birth and family,” 
one whom nothing of evil could ever touch or hurl 


A TEUE ABISTOCEAT, 


341 


from position, to find, after all, that she was 

but t ig of a bondwoman who had been made 

the tc noble man — the plaything of a traitor in 

the h j brother! 

She Knew mat such things had transpired in the South 
— that they had added dishonor to an already disgrace- 
ful and unholy institution; but that such a thing could 
be said of her — that she should be the victim of such 
sin and shame had never occurred to her. 

Where did you get this paper 

Selma started violently as the hollow tone smote her 
ear, it was so unnatural, so hopeless. 

“1 took it from master’s private desk the night be- 
fore I came away,” she answered without lifting her 
bowed head. 

^^What right had you to take it? How did you dare 
take it?” 

I had no right,” the woman answered, humbly, 
^^but I did it for your sake. I never could rest, know- 
ing that it existed — I was afraid that sometime it might 
be found and that you might discover the truth; and to 
think that after all / should be the one to blight your 
life with the revelation!” she concluded with a groan. 

Helen made an impatient movement as if her suffer- 
ing galled her. 

It made her realize more fully their relationship to 
each other. 

‘'‘'How did you know that there was such a paper?” 
she asked. 

could not help knowing — it was a dreadful time,” 
Selma answered, Avith a shiver. 

Begin at the beginning and tell me everything,” 
Mrs. Langley commanded, but with asken lips. 

Selma lifted a face almost as colorless as her own at 
this. 

‘^It would be better for you never to hear it; I would 
rather have died than live to tell you the truth,” she 
said. 

Tell me,” was the brief but imperative reply. 

With her elbows resting upon her knees, and her in- 


342 


A TBUE ARISTOCRAT. 


terlocked hands clasping her forehead, Selma began her 
thrilling tale. 

I am about the age that Master Charles would have 
been had he lived, and was reared with him and his sis- 
ters on the old plantation in Kentucky. I was called 
very smart and bright, as well as handsome, and was much 
petted by the whole family, and being quick to learn, they 
allowed me to study with the children and recite to their 
governess. Thus I grew up to be more of a companion 
than a servant. Old Mrs. Montgomery had been mar- 
ried before, and had one son — Eichard Sussex — who 
was some three or four years older than Master Charles. 
They both resembled their mother, were dark and hand- 
some, and looked very much alike, although they were 
only half-brothers. Eichard had a desire for a military 
life, and as soon as he was fitted for it he was sent 
away to West Point. He was very fond of me as a 
child, and was always ready to assist me with my lessons, 
and I experienced a gratitude and affection for him that 
amounted almost to idolatry. 

We did not see much of him for several years, for he 
spent most of his vacations Xorth, and after he graduated 
he was ordered away for a year or two on some duty. 
When Master Charles was married I became half com- 
panion, half lady^s maid to his wife; but I was never 
treated as a servant — never made to feel that I was a 
slave. It would have been far better for me if I had,” 
Selma said, with a sigh of pain. 

Go on,” Mrs.' Langley interposed, with a frown. 
She could 'hardly wait to hear the rest; every word 
was torture, but she was determined to know the whole 
truth. 

^‘1 was twenty-two pars old when Eichard returned 
to spend a furlough with his brother. Master Charles 
had only been married a short time then, and the 
house was very gay with compan}", and no one 
seemed to notice how much Eichard talked and jested 
with me. He sought me continually; he paid me fiat- 
tering compliments, as if I had been his equal, and made 
me handsome presents; while I, in my vanity and ignor- 


A TRUE ABISTOCRAT. 


343 


ance, received it all with delight, and allowed my old 
aifection for him to revive, believing all that he told 
me about my beauty and intelligence, until he had 
charmed me as the serpent charmed the fluttering, 
delighted bird that it marked for its prey. When 
he went away the world sudddenly became a blank 
to me; I lost all interest in everything, became care- 
less about my duties, peevish and irritable in disposi- 
tion. 

When, some time later, I was obliged to confess to 
my mistress my own folly and the treachery of her hus- 
band^s brother, there was a tempest in the family such 
as one would not care often to see. Master Charles sent 
for his brother, and flerce, sharp words passed between 
them. I crept into a closet in the room adjoining and 
listened, determined to know what was said about me. 

^^‘^The girl is handsome and w^ell educated — no one 
w^ould ever believe she has a drop of black blood in her 
veins; take her away where she will not be known, and 
do the right thing by her,^ I heard Master Charles say. 

What do you mean?'’ Richard demanded, in a sharp, 
angry voice. 

Marry her. I will give her to you; she is more 
like a sister to us both than a slave.'’ 

Marry a d d niggerP shouted Richard; and he 

added that he w'ould see Master Charles in a very bad 
place first; and he instantly left the house in a passion, 
without even one kind word or look for me. 

A week later my mistress, who was not well, was 
ordered to go North for awhile, and it was decided that 
I should accompany her. 

‘"We went to a quiet little village among the Adiron- 
dack Mountains, and there my child was born three 
months later. 

“She was a lovely little girl, with black hair and eyes, 
and the very image of Richard Sussex. My mistress was 
delighted with her, and made much of her, although she 
would look very sad at times when she sat holding her 
in her arms. 

“ A month after, she gave birth to a dead child, a boy, 


344 


A mUE ARISTOCRAT. 


and her heart was almost broken. After a few days, 
when she became a little more calm, she directed me to 
write for my master to come on immediately, and a week 
later he arrived in answer to the summons. My mistress 
bade me go out soon after he came, saying I might leave 
my child with her. I do not know what occurred dur- 
ing that interview, but when I was called to take my 
baby they both looked very grave and troubled, and Master 
Charles went immediately out to post a letter that he 
had been writing. The day but one following Kichard 
Sussex came in suddenly, as 1 sat in our little sitting- 
room rocking my baby to sleep. He started as he saw 
me, nodded and turned away, but not before I had seen 
how pale his face had grown as his eyes fell upon the 
sleeping child. 

Where is your master?" he asked, without looking 
at me. 

could have killed him for speaking those cruel 
words, which reminded me that I was a slave, and made 
so apparent to me the dilference in our position. 

“ I pointed to the bedroom without answering a word, 
and he went in and shut the door. 

^^My mistress was able to sit up now, and those three 
held a long consultation, and I heard it. I knew by in- 
stinct that it concerned me and my child, and I was de- 
termined to know all that transpired. 

^ I never can consent to own as a slave any one 
in whose veins a drop of kindred blood is flowing," I 
heard Master Charles say, as, after laying my baby 
down, I glided to the door to listen. The child bids 
fair to be very lovely, and surely you would not wish her 
raised as a servant." 

“ do not see how I can very well help it," Eichard 
replied in a sullen tone. 

^ Man, what are you thinking of? I would not have 
believed you so heartless," exclaimed my master, indig- 
nantly. 

'''lam not heartless! If the girl had been free and 
white I would have married her outright," was the con- 
fession which set my heart bounding with delight. 


A TJiirB ABISTOOBAT. 


345 


^ Then you really did love her after all/ my mis- 
tress interposed, quickly. 

^ So well that I shall never love any one else prob- 
ably as long as 1 live.'’ 

^ Then why not cast pride to the winds and do what 
I have proposed? Take her abroad where no one will 
ever know' — she is capable of occupying almost any 
position — and then you will be able to rear and educate 
your child as becomes one of your blood. ^ 

^It is impossible. Some one would be sure to dis- 
cover it. I am surprised that you, a Southern gentle- 
man, could propose such a measure. But if you will 
give them both to me, or sell them to me, I will take 
them away, and they shall have everything in the future 
which money can provide.^ 

‘^‘Do you think I would consent to anything like 
that?’ Master Charles exclaimed, indignantly. ^Do you 
think I will allow any more of such wrong as you have 
already committed? How would you account to your 
child, when she should become a woman, for her parent- 
age and your relations with her mother? No; if you 
will not do as I wish, I have still another proposition to 
make to you. We have lost the little one whom we 
hoped God would give us, and if you will consent to 
leave the country, or go away somewhere, and never 
seek to see or make yourself known to this child, we 
will adopt her as our* own in place of the one we have 
lost. No one yet knows of either birth. We sent Selma 
North, hoping to shield her as well as you from the re- 
sults of your folly, and if we take the little one back 
with us as our own, no one will ever need to know but 
that she really belongs to us. But you must give me 
your written promise never to hold any communication 
with either Selma or the child, and I, in turn, will pledge 
myself to make her an equal sharer with my own children, 
should I have them, in whatever I may leave at my 
death.’ 

^ Yes, I will consent to that,’ Eichard replied, after a 
long pause. ' I do not like the idea of never returning 
to my own home again^ but I suppose it would not be 


346 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


pleasant for you to see me after my unfortunate escapade. 
But if you do as you have proposed it will be a heavy 
burden off my mind, for it ivould he a cursed shame to 
have the child brought up as a — slave.'’ 

^^The paper that you have there, Miss Helen,'’'’ Selma 
went on, ^^was written and signed there, as was also a 
promise from Richard, which I never saw; and when we 
went back to old Kentucky my child went as little Miss 
Helen Montgomery, and no one ever knew of the secret 
which we three held locked within our hearts. 

^‘One day my mistress came and told me that my 
master wished to see me. I went with fear and trem- 
bling, for I mistrusted some trouble was coming to me. 

He told me that I was to stay with Miss Helen until 
she was a year old; then he would give me my freedom 
upon condition that I, too, would go away and never 
seek to see her again. In vain I promised on my knees 
that I would never breathe a word to betray my secret, 
and told him that I did not care for my freedom so tjiat 
I could stay with my child. 

You love her too well already,^ he said; ^besides, 
we know that you are her mother, and we do not wish 
to be constantly reminded of the fact by your presenge.'’ 

‘'‘'And so it was settled, for there was no appeal from 
his will. I remained the year out, growing to love you 
more and more, and driven nearly wild with the thought 
of parting. But the day came a^ last, and my master 
brought me my free papers, and a hundred dollars — ^to 
give me a start somewhere,^ he said — and I came imme- 
diately to New York. 

‘‘ As I told you before, however, the night previous to 
my departure I went to Master Charles’ private drawer 
— for 1 knew where he kept his keys — and stole that 
paper, hoping thus to remove all evidence that you were 
not his child from all possibility of discovery by you or 
any one else. For many years I lived in and about New’ 
York in the capacity of lady’s maid, and earned a good 
living; but every fall I stole back to my old Kentucky 
home, to take one look at the child whom I could never 
forget nor cease to love. On my second visit there I 


A TRUE AUISTOQUAT. 


U1 


found that another child had come to share in the love 
which had hitherto been lavished wholly upon mine. It 
was a beautiful boy, with dark eyes and hair, a clear, 
bright complexion, and strangely resembling you. 

“ Thus you grew up together, and no one ever knew 
that you were not own brother and sister. When my 
master died, and I found that he had faithfully kept his 
pledge that you should share equally with his own — 
when I saw how beautiful and brilliant and admired 
you were, I felt that my sacrifice had been well re- 
paid. 

"" But when I heard of your husband^s death, and that 
you had lost all your money — when, on following you to 
Saratoga, hoping to win my way as a servant to your 
constant presence, I found that even your supposed 
brother had cast you off, all my old affection revived 
for you. I thought perhaps you might make a quiet 
home somewhere and let me be your servant. I knew 
no one would be as faithful as I, and so, to win my way 
to your sympathies, I thought I would bring you my 
freedom-papers to prove that I had once belonged to 
your family. It was in a box with this pledge, and I 
su23posed I had brought the right one; but my eyesight 
has failed of late, and so I have made this blunder, which 
has told you a secret which I would rather have died 
than reveal. 

Where is Eichard Sussex?^^ Helen Langley de- 
manded, as Selma concluded her wonderful story. 

Dead. He died in South America fifteen years ago. 
I never saw him after that day, when he came to us in 
the Adirondacks."’^ 

Then there is no one living who knows this fearful 
thing save you and myself. 

all aie dead — and, oh! that I could have died, 
too, before this wretched hour moaned the unhappy 
creature. 

A savage gleam shot into the younger woman^s eyes at 
this; it was as if in her heart she wished so, too. 

“ Then perish all evidence of it forever she said, 
hoarsely, as she took the 2 )aper and tore it into bits. 


348 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, 


Then, rising, she went and threw them into the grate, 
where they were instantly consumed to ashes. 

Then she turned white and stern to Selma. 

You can go now,"*^ she said, coldly. 

Selma looked up at her with piteous eyes, and a face 
as colorless as parchment. 

‘^Can you never forgive me?'"’ she pleaded, while she 
struggled to her feet and came and knelt before the 
proud woman. 

^^No, never!'-’ was the cruel, almost fierce, response. 

Oh, do not say that!’’ she moaned. Do not banish 
me entirely from you. I will be your servant — you can 
command me in any way — I will faithfully obey your 
lightest behest, and never remind you by look, word, or 
act of ” 

Enough!” Helen interrupted, with a shiver, while 
she waved the poor creature from her with a gesture of 
repulsion. Go now; but, if you choose, you can come 
again to-morrow, and I will talk further with you about 
the future.” 

Painfully, and without another word, Selma struggled 
to her feet and tottered from the room. 

Helen Langley sprang forward and locked the door 
the instant it closed behind her, and then, her power of 
self-control all gone, she became for the time like one 
insane. 

It is useless to try to describe the tornado of passion, 
and shame and humiliation that swept over this proud 
woman’s soul at this last fearful revelation. 

Suffice it to say that when another day dawned, the 
once haughty and elegant Helen Langley looked as if a 
score of years had passed over her, leaving their ravag- 
ing marks behind. 

Her face was wan and wrinkled, her eyes sunken, and 
surrounded by dark, unsightly rings; her once abundant 
hair, so rich and dark, was thickfy sprinkled with 
threads of silver, and her proud bearing forever gone. 

What passed between her and Selma the following 
afternoon was never known, *save to themselves, but 
after communicating several times by letter with How- 


A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 


349 


ard, Mrs. Colonel Langley and her servant/^ as the 
papers had it, sailed one day for Europe, and that star 
dropped forever out of the social world of New York, 
where for many years it had shone with such effulgence. 

Ten years later there appeared a notice of her death 
in one of the New York papers. 

She had died in Paris, and was buried there. 

Selma, old and feeble, retired to a ^”home for the 
liomeless” in the city, and when at length she knew that 
her end was also near, she begged to be laid at the foot 
of the lot where they had hurried her mistress,’"’ and 
the child to whom she had been so faithful during all 
the sad years of her life. 

Back to Saratoga we must now go for one brief review 
of the actors we left, and the events transpiring there. 

Howard and his fair wife remaiiied several weeks after 
the de])arture of Mrs. Langley, although the season was 
about over at that time, and the gay visitors nearly all 
gone. 

The air and water appeared to be so beneficial to both 
Cecile and Daisy that Howard deemed it best for them 
to remain there until he could prepare a new home for 
them in New York. 

He went back and forth every day, superintending it, 
and under the influence pf his recovered happiness he, 
too, was improving almost as rapidly as they. 

When they were at length settled in their beautiful 
residence, on one of the fashionable avenues of the city, 
Cecile one day asked Martha what she could do for her 
for all her faithfulness to her during the past. 

Let me stay with you and take care of Miss Daisy 
just the same as I have done.^tshe answered with start- 
ing tears, while she hugged the child close to her heart. 

"‘^But you came to America in search of your fortune, 
you know,^^ Cecily replied, smiling, 3'et touched by this 
evidence of the giiTs affection for her. thought if 
you liked, I would settle my little business upon you, 
help you about your patterns, and you could make money 
much more rapidly in that way."’^ 

^^You are very kind, inarm, but I should be lonely. 


350 


A TRUE APJ8TOCRAT. 


and — I would rather make less money and stay with yon, 
if — you want me/" Martha answered, rather wistfully. 

Of course I want you, you good girl; and I believe 
Daisy would almost break her heart without her kind 
Martha, only I wanted to do as well as possible by you."" 

So the little business by which Cecile had kept the 
wolf from the door for three long years was disposed of 
to some one else, and Martha retained as a favorite serv- 
ant, until one day a handsome lad from Bonnie Scot- 
land"" came in search of her, and she ^‘^went awa" wi" 
him,"" to a pretty little home of her owm, which Daisy 
and Daisy'V mother made as attractive as possible for 
her. 

George Anthony henceforth devoted himself to his 
profession. He discovered that, after all, he was '^not a 
marrying man,"" and always gave a wide berth to all beau- 
tiful widows in the future, warned by his experience with 
Helen Langley that appearances are often deceitful. 

But there was always a “warm corner"" in Cecils 
Montgomery"s lovely home for him, as she had told him 
there would be; and he believed that there did not exite 
in all the world so perfect a household as that in which 
the “ True Aristocrat"" reigned supreme, both as a fond 
and faithful wife and a true and loving mother. 


[the end.] 


N 


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popular compositions of instrumental music for the home, selected from the 
w'orks of favorite composers, arranged for the piano and organ. Paper cover. 
Pi 'ice, 60 cents. 

Burt’s Selected Gems of Dance Music : A choice selection 
of seventy-eight pieces of standard dance mnsic from the works of favorite 
composers, arranged for the piano or organ. Paper cover. Pirice, 60 cents. 


Patience Pettigrew’s Perplexities. A veracious history of 

the ex^riences of Patience Pettigrew, relict of the late lamented Josiah Petti- 
grew, Esq., etc., etc. By Clara Augusta. Illustrated by Thos. Worth. Paper 
cover. Price, 25 cents. 

Paper Flowers : A manual of designs and directions for mak- 
ing paper flowers from tissue paper. By Florence. Illustrated by A. O. C. 
Paper cover. Price, 15 cents. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent post-paid on receipt o f 
the price by the publisher, L L BURT, 66 Beekman St, New fork. 



Published Monthly. Yearly Subscription $3.00. Single Copy 25 cents. 


Every one desiring really good novels, written by popular 
American authors, should not fail to get the stories in the follow- 
ing list. In the “ Manhattan Series” these novels are issued 
in neat, attractive book form, printed from large, clear type, at a 
price as cheap or cheaper than the reprints of English novels. 
These stories have been selected for their intense dramatic in- 
terest, vigor of action, absorbing fascination of plot and mystery, 
and the wide popularity of the authors. 

The Manhattan Series, though so cheap, is not to be classed with modern 
penurious publications, often too dear at any ^ricQ.— National Republican. 
Washington., D. C. 

The Manhattan Series contains good novels, well bound, excellently printed 
and cheap. — Daily News., Springfield, Mass. 

These novels art pleasant companions for a summer afternoon. — Transcript, 
Boston, Mass. 

The Manhattan Series contain some of the most popular America. ' 
novels. — News, Baltimore, Md. 


The Following Titles are Now Ready : 

THE MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE. By Amanda M. Dougla. 

MARRIED IN MASK. Bv Mansfield Tracy Walworth. . ^ 

•’■■■ 

THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT. By MAR’i|^^-^;i^ 

Denison. 

TRIXY ; or, The Shadow of a Crime. By Mrs. GeorV 
Sheldon* 

TRUE TO HERSELF. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth. 

«• 

THE FACE OF ROSENFEL. By Charles Howard | 
Montague. i 

A STRANGE PILGRIMAGE. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth. 


MOMENT OF MADNESS. By Charles J. Bellamy. 


IILDHURM’S OAK. By Julian Hawthorne. 

A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 


The above are for sale at all Book-Stores and by JVezvsdealers, or will 


be sent post-paid on receipt of price {2^ cents per copy), by the publisher. 




A. L. BURT, 56 Beekman St, New York, 



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THE CELEBRATED 

SOEMEB 




GEAND, SQTJAEE AND UPEIGHT PIANr' 


FIRST PRIZE 
DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exhibition, 
1876, Montreal, 1881 and 
1882. 

The enviable po- 
sition Solimer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 



They are 
in Conserva 
Schools and 
inaries, on a 
of their si 
tone and une 
durability. 

The SOH 
Piano is a s 
favorite wit 
leading mui 
and critics. 


ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPEEAR 


AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTI5 
SOHMER Sc CO., Manufacturers, Nos. 149 to 166 E. 14tliSt., 1 


“THE HIGHEST AUTHORITIES UNANIMOUSLY IND' 
BRAINERD & ARMSTRONG’S UNFADING ASIATIC DYE! 


“’WARE Hawks!” 

Sensational advertising is always strictly avoided in offering BRAINERD & 
STRONG’S FAST- DYED EMBROIDERING SILKS, but the fact that there are 
market many WORTHLESS IMITA'JTONS THAT WILL NOT WASH, of 

BRAINERD & ARMSTRONG’S 


ROPE, \r>y KNITTING, 

FILO, IVTT T/'O crocheting 
OUTLINING,! I K S. UNDERWEAR, 
TWISTED, L-rlVvJ nATURELLE, 



necessitates a word of Caution to ,Art Embroider*- ks: See that every Skein, Hank 


OR Spool bears our Name. No other is genuine. 


THE BRAINERD & ARMSTRONG CO., 

Leading Manufacturers in the world of materials for high-class Needlework and Dec 

Embroidering. 

NEW YORK, PHILADELPHIA, BOSTON AND BALTIMOR 

Mills; NEW LONDON, CONN. 











